


Tomorrow and Tomorrow

by YellowDistress



Series: What We Are [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Kid Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-01 16:42:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 96,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16288175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YellowDistress/pseuds/YellowDistress
Summary: Flashes of Peter growing up with his father.(Continuation of 'Stars, Hide Your Fires')





	1. Iron Man I

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know I just posted a little oneshot for Halloween, but I've been outlining this for a bit. I've been looking for the best way to show you guys Peter's life with Tony through the movies, but without it being thick and repetitive as if I'm retelling the movies to you guys. Sooooo, I decided the best way to do that is to show some sort of snapshots from Peter's point of view. So the story will consist of eight chapters, each from Peter's perspective, ending with Infinity War. I hope you guys will enjoy it and obviously it will contain spoilers.  
> Updates will be as quickly as I can muster. I'm still in school (blah) but I will make sure to update when I can. Like I said, I've got the story outlined, so it's just a matter of finding time to get the chapters written. Some chapters will be longer than others because obviously, Peter will have a bigger role in some movies compared to others. 
> 
> Hope you guys like it! Let me know what you think. ❤

Peter’s father built things that Peter didn’t understand at first.

 

Because these weren’t the things he usually built. These were things the knights wore, from the King Arthur movie Peter loved so much. But not _exactly_ the same, since these armors made his father fly and made him shoot things from his hands. Peter didn’t understand, but he guessed he didn’t need to. There were a lot of things he didn’t understand. That was what being six – almost seven – entailed.

 

So, he watched and tried to make sense of it himself. A lot of that was because his father didn’t tell him much about what he was doing. Just that it was for protection and things like that. Peter watched his father build, but the day his dad shot through the glass wall and Peter had been sprayed with shards, he hadn’t been allowed back down into the shop. That was more on Pepper’s orders, and Peter’s father had agreed. Peter didn’t know why. He hadn’t even been cut.

 

Occasionally though, he’d sneak down. He’d watch through the window from the stairs as his father worked and flew and did things Peter would never be able to explain. It was like magic, but science and robots. Peter’s father could turn into one whenever the armor surrounded him and that was pretty amazing.

 

But his father was a lot more tired now. Ever since coming back from the desert and back to Peter, he had been very tired. Dark circles under his eyes and Peter wanted his father to go to sleep. Just for a little while. He was awake whenever Peter was put to bed and he was awake when Peter got up in the morning. There was something wrong, but Peter didn’t ask anymore because when he did his father would frown and pinch his cheeks or ruffle his hair. Peter didn’t like when his father looked so hurt.

 

Pepper had no problem with telling Peter’s father to sleep though and sometimes he’d catch his dad sleeping on his desk or the floor or anywhere but his bed. Some nights Peter lied and said he had nightmares, just so his father would sleep in his room. And Peter wouldn’t let himself slip off until he knew his father was already asleep next to him.

 

His dad was better on days he slept.

 

But then a lot was happening around Peter that he didn’t understand. Conversations about the armor and about people not knowing who his father was. And Peter was not allowed to tell anyone, especially his teacher or Ms. Goldrush who watched him whenever his father was too busy building or not at home.

 

Mr. Obie came over a lot more too and Peter didn’t like that very much. Especially the night Mr. Obie hurt his father.

 

Peter knew better than to come out of his hiding spot that night. He had snuck down the stairs, hearing voices from the living room. But when he saw Mr. Obie there, leaning over the couch and over his father, Peter had crouched down and covered his mouth with his hands to keep himself from breathing too loud. It felt like his heart was going burst from his tiny chest while he watched Mr. Obie pluck the thing that kept his father alive from his chest.

 

“This is your legacy. A new generation of weapons with this at its heart.”

 

Peter didn’t get it. But his father’s skin had gone pale and he wasn’t moving. Not at all. His brown eyes watered and he just couldn’t grasp it…why, why, why was Mr. Obie hurting his dad? Why wasn’t his father moving? Fighting? Using his new armor to do something, anything?

 

Then Mr. Obie was leaving. Peter ran down the stairs when he knew the man had gone.

 

Peter’s bare feet smacked against the floor as he rushed to the couch where his father laid. He jumped on it, propping himself up on his knees and holding his father’s shoulder to keep himself up right. The man was stiff, staring ahead, his mouth set in a thin line and his skin was growing paler by each passing moment. Peter felt his lower lip tremble as he shook his father’s shoulder ever so slightly, “Dad?”

 

His father didn’t say anything. But his eyes did move to look at Peter. Peter felt the tears grow hot on his cheeks and his face flushed with panic. Peter whimpered again, “What’s wrong? W-what…what…”

 

He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. Around his father’s friend coming in and hurting him like that. Taking the thing from his dad’s chest. Peter studied the intimidating hole, staring, wondering and thinking of a way to fix it. To make it better. He bit down on his tongue and whispered, “I dunno what to do.”

 

Peter grabbed his dad’s hand, still staring at the gaping hole. His father’s fingers were twitching, but only in the slightest. Peter looked up at the ceiling and called, “Jarvis!”

 

“Yes Peter,” The voice responded, always there, always dependable.

 

Peter looked back down at his dad’s blanched face, “D-Dad is…how do I h-help him?”

 

He just wanted to cry. He wanted Pepper or Uncle Rhodey to show up and help and fix him. He wanted Mr. Obie to never come visit again. His stomach felt too hot and the whole room was too small for him and Peter was pretty darn small. Eventually Jarvis’ voice came back and said, “My scanners indicate his reactor has been removed from his chest. You’ll need to replace it.”

 

But Peter couldn’t. He couldn’t build. He didn’t even know where to get a thing like a reactor. Where to find one…

 

And then…

 

Peter jumped off the couch, running to the stairs that lead to the workshop. The day his dad had built the thing that had thrown his father against the wall, Pepper had brought something to the shop that looked exactly like the thing in his father’s chest. Peter’s short legs stumbled only slightly on the way down to the workshop, but the moment he made it there and typed in the code to enter, he rushed inside.

 

It was in a glass case that read ‘Proof that Tony Stark Has a Heart’ which must have been funny but Peter didn’t care. He grabbed it from the table, glanced at DUM-E who whirled, as if encouraging him to proceed. Peter stepped back, throwing down the glass box and listened to the satisfying shattering sound it made. Peter then carefully plucked the metal object out before running and making his way back up to his father.

 

Peter thought he had never run so quickly before.

 

Like he was the fastest person _ever_.

 

Once he had returned, he found that his father must have made some kind of attempt to get off the couch, because he was lying on the floor a few feet away from it. Peter slid to a stop on his pajama covered knees and prodded as his father’s shoulder to try and get him to roll over. Peter had to set the reactor down and grab the man’s arm in order to turn him on his back and Peter had never realized how heavy his father was. But then again, he had never tried to lift him before. His father had always done all the lifting for the both of them.

 

He looked worse, sweat glistening and clinging to his hair. Peter’s hands shook as his father’s bleary eyes met his own and Peter picked up the reactor, holding it out to the man.

 

Tony’s eyes moved to it. He was breathing heavily, gasping, before he muttered softly…

 

“Good boy.”

 

Peter watched as his father carefully plucked the object from his hand and starting to stick it into his chest. Peter thought, it should hurt to do that, but his father wasn’t even flinching. And the moment it was reinserted, it was as if life was pouring back into his father almost immediately, just lightly doused in exhaustion as his father’s head fell back and his eyes rolled closed. Peter breathed out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding before leaning forward and pressing the side of his face into the man’s shoulder. Despite him being sweaty and still gasping, Peter had thought…well…

 

His father hadn’t looked good.

 

It had been scary.

 

Peter didn’t cry though. He didn’t let himself.

 

He wanted to be an adult, like his dad.

 

When Uncle Rhodey arrived, Peter shot up from where he was lying beside his father, eyes going wide with terror until he realized who it was in their house. Uncle Rhodey looked panicked, running to be beside them and then helping Peter’s father sit up. Peter watched with worried eyes, because he didn’t think his father needed to be moving a lot.

 

“Where’s Pepper?” Peter’s father asked in a rough voice.

 

“She’s fine,” Uncle Rhodey reassured, holding him up by his arms, “She’s with five agents, they’re about to arrest Obadiah.”

 

His father’s eyes got far, far away.

 

“That’s not gonna be enough.”

 

Uncle Rhodey put Peter in his room. Told him to get under the bed and not to come out unless it was him, Pepper, or Tony that came looking for him. Peter didn’t know what was going on, but he held Remy close to his chest and got under the bed as he was instructed, hiding and silent as he was left alone in the house while his father went God knows where and Uncle Rhodey left with him.

 

Peter didn’t like it. Any of it. Being left to hide while everyone else got to go help his father. That was the only thing about being a kid. You had to hide. You couldn’t fight because the grown-ups wouldn’t let you. And Peter hated that. He hated being helpless. Not being able to help. But he didn’t move. He did what his Uncle Rhodey had told him to do and stayed hidden.

 

Peter thought, one day he’d be big enough to help. Big enough to do the things his father did. Maybe he’d build his own knight armor and he’d protect his dad instead of his dad protecting him all the time. It only seemed fair. But at the moment, Peter just laid there, holding Remy close and shutting his eyes blearily as the night drug on and no one came for him.

 

It was a long time before anyone came for him.

 

Peter woke to someone pulling him out from under the bed, and at first he flailed, eyes shooting open and Remy being thrown at the person. But when the person grunted in response to having a stuffed bunny shoved in his face, Peter realized it was his father who had reached under the bed and pulled his sleeping form out.

 

The boy blinked up at his father, who looked a little worse than before. But he wasn’t pale. Sickly. Just…bruised. Beaten. Like the night he had come home after being in the desert for so long with the bad guys. Peter sat up hurriedly, whirling to look at his father was still kneeling on the floor. Peter gasped, “Did you get him?”

 

His father’s head nodded mutely. Peter let out a breath of relief. Maybe his father’s eyes were sad, but Peter missed it. Saw it, but missed it, because if he had won, he shouldn’t have been sad. Then again, Mr. Obie had been his father’s friend and sometimes…well…friends weren’t supposed to do that. Hurt other friends. Peter remembered one of his friends tripping him on the playground. They weren’t friends after that and Peter had been sad.

 

Peter kneeled in front of his father, looking up at him.

 

“Uncle Rhodey and Pepper are still your friends.”

 

His father’s brows tugged together, as if confused by the statement.

 

Peter elaborated, “Mr. Obie was mean sometimes anyway. Uncle Rhodey is never mean and Pepper is only mean when you don’t follow her rules.”

 

Peter’s father scoffed, pushing a hand through Peter’s hair and pulling him close.

 

“I guess you’re right about that.”

 

Of course Peter was right. He felt right.

 

They didn’t sleep that night. Peter, his father, Uncle Rhodey, and Pepper all sat in the living room. Answering phone calls. Talking to people. Cops, men and women in suits came to the house to talk to them, one after the other, interview after interview. Peter’s father lied. Said he hadn’t been there when it happened, and Peter kept his mouth shut because he supposed his father had a reason to lie.

 

Then they slept the next day when the people stopped coming.

 

Peter had never had a day quite like that.

 

…

 

Then there was the press conference. Peter had been home with Ms. Goldrush when his father had come onto the television. She _always_ let him watch his dad’s press conferences.

 

“I am Iron Man.”

 

Peter thought…the whole world changed then.


	2. Iron Man II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snapshots of Iron Man II through Peter's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this one a bit quicker than planned. Mostly because I have a full school week tomorrow, so I wanted to get you guys another chapter before I get bogged down with some school work. As you can see from the chapter title, this is Iron Man II. Hope you all enjoy! Let me know what you think. ❤

Things got better until they got worse.

 

That was the only way Peter could describe it. It started with the good things. People talking about the peace that Iron Man was bringing and Peter thought that was always the goal of everything. That people just wanted world peace. No more wars where people had to go and get hurt. Everyone could be happy, and so…Peter had thought…well, he had _assumed_ his father had done that for the world. And his father must have assumed that too.

 

Things got even better with the Stark Expo, something Peter had taken a particular liking to. Not because their name was on it, or just because of all the cool things – those were amazing though – but it wasn’t just that. It made his dad happy and it made him smile and Peter had found that since Mr. Obie had done the bad thing, it was hard sometimes to get his father to do so. The smiles rolled in, every time they went, but then it slipped and suddenly his father was pale and tired often.

 

Peter didn’t think his father knew that Peter noticed him pricking his finger with that machine over and over. The way his father would slip off to the workshop, hands trembling, and then emerge as if nothing was wrong. Peter could only go to the shop with permission, so he didn’t follow to see what his father was doing. And sneaking down there had become difficult ever since he had gotten caught and now Jarvis was set to warn Tony if Peter was coming down the stairs.

 

There was the performance. The ladies who danced. His father had to go to Washington afterward, and Peter watched on the news as the men shouted at one another. Peter had been at the hotel in Manhattan, left behind with Ms. Goldrush. Peter knew what they wanted. They wanted the Iron Man suit. The armor that made his father a knight. Everyone seemed to be interested in it now and the mean senator sure did curse a lot.

 

Peter sat on the floor of the hotel room, in front of the television. He turned back to look at Ms. Goldrush, his eyes wide after watching his father leave the courtroom.

 

“Why is he so mean to my dad?”

 

Ms. Goldrush looked up from her book and frowned, looking at the television a moment as they replayed what had happened. She shut the novel and set it aside before shaking her head, “They’re just…envious. They want what your dad made.”

 

Peter got that part. He wanted the cool backpack that a kid in his class had, but it still didn’t make sense. Peter wasn’t mean to that kid just because he liked his backpack.

 

She patted the seat beside her, “C’mon, let’s work on some of your spelling words. Your dad will be back to get you in a few hours.”

 

Peter scurried to sit beside her as she dug through one of his school folders and pulled out an orange piece of paper with twenty words on the front.

 

“Spell ‘science’.”

 

…

 

Peter’s father arrived a few hours later, and the boy bounded out of the elevator and sprinted across the lobby to greet him at the front doors of the hotel while Ms. Goldrush and the hotel employee worked on bringing the luggage.

 

He hit his dad full force, the man’s arms scooping him up the moment he was in reach. Peter let out a deafening squeal as he wrapped his arms tightly around his father’s neck, burying his face in his shoulder. His father kissed the side of his head and greeted, “Hey squirt.”

 

Peter pulled back, smiling, even though he saw how pale his father’s face was. They lived in Malibu, it was rare to see his skin so devoid of color. The boy could feel the heat radiating off of the man, like a fever, like how Peter got when he had gotten the flu several months back. But his dad had been like this off and on for weeks and Peter chewed the inside of his mouth worriedly, wondering if it was alright to ask or if that wasn’t okay.

 

He put a hand on his father’s forehead and asked, “Are you sick?”

 

His dad frowned, and shook his head, “Nah, just tired.”

 

Peter was lowered to the ground and his dad took his hand tightly into his own as their stuff was loaded into the vehicle and they climbed inside. Pepper was there too, with lots and lots of papers. She didn’t say much about the papers, because Peter talked most of the way to the jet. Talked and talked and his father didn’t reply much, but he smiled a ton. And Peter took that as him being okay, despite not looking so good.

 

It was often now; his father didn’t look so good.

 

…

 

“I’ve been trying to figure out who a worthy successor would be. Then I realized, it’s you, it’s always been you…Well, until Peter gets old enough to do it himself.”

 

Peter wasn’t supposed to be listening in, but that was what he did sometimes when Jarvis decided not to tattle. It wasn’t his fault entirely, but he could hear Pepper and his father shouting all the way from upstairs on the main level. It wasn’t odd to hear that, but he typically came down just to listen. He sat on the stairs, above where they could see him and crouched down just enough to watch them through the glass.

 

His father popped a bottle and the liquid flowed out.

 

Pepper’s back was turned as she sat down slowly and they sat together. She seemed happy, when she turned her head and Peter could see a bit of a smile on her face. Shock and joy and Peter didn’t know what was going on, but he was happy for her.

 

Whatever a CEO was and whatever that entailed, it had brought Natalie Rushman to them.

 

Peter liked watching his father and Happy box, but he liked it even more when Natalie Rushman had flipped Happy over. Even though it made Pepper scream, Peter had laughed hysterically because he had never, _ever_ seen anyone flip someone the size of Happy over so easily and Peter was just all around amazed.

 

His father looked back at him and grinned, “C’mon kiddo, let’s not bruise Happy’s ego any more than it already is.”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow and stood on top of the chair. He liked to be as tall as his father when they spoke to one another and he asked, “What’s an ego?”

 

“It’s your dad’s _huge_ personality,” Pepper humored, before Natalie handed the papers over to Peter’s dad and he pressed his fingerprint into the page. Peter watched curiously, and that didn’t explain much of what an ego was, because the way his father rolled his eyes, that probably wasn’t the truth.

 

“Will that be all, Mr. Stark?” Natalie Rushman asked.

 

Peter’s father replied, “No,” while Pepper replied, “Yes.” Natalie Rushman must have chosen to listen to Pepper though, because she turned and began to walk out of the room. Peter jumped off the chair and called after her, “Wait!”

 

She paused and looked back at him, eyebrows raised in surprise. Peter pointed to the boxing ring and asked, “Will you teach me that trick?”

 

She was smaller than Happy and she had flipped him. Which meant Peter should be able to do the same. Natalie Rushman smiled softly at Peter and replied, “Maybe another time, yeah?”

 

“Promise?” Peter questioned.

 

She nodded, “Promise.”

 

Her shoes clicked out of the room and Peter turned, shooting a toothy grin at his father who pinched his cheek.

 

“We get it kid, the ladies like you better,” Peter’s dad laughed.

 

…

 

Monaco had been a massive deal.

 

Peter hadn’t really known why they were going to Monaco in the first place. He knew his father’s birthday was getting closer and there was going to be a race that his father had a car competing in, but other than that, it was going to be a lot of grown up stuff that Peter didn’t particularly _want_ to do. And when grown up stuff was happening, Peter usually didn’t have other kids to play with because none of his father’s friends had kids.

 

His dad had said it was the first vacation in ‘two years’.

 

Peter noticed the man was still acting strange. Still sluggish and odd and Peter worried a lot, but didn’t ask any more if his father felt sick because his father always said no and Peter didn’t like to be lied to. Sometimes he felt like he was being treated like a baby…and sure he knew being almost eight wasn’t a grown up, but he thought it was inching close. At least old enough to know why his dad was being weird.

 

_Then_ the uncomfortable grown-up part. _Then_ his father sneaking off. _Then_ Pepper and Happy leaving him with Natalie Rushman to go help his father who was _being attacked on a racetrack, and why was his father racing?_

The man on the television with the giant electrical whips had been one of the scariest things Peter had ever seen in his life. He had held Natalie’s hand and he didn’t know if she minded, but she didn’t take it away. She held his hand back while his lip trembled, and he wanted to cry. But in the end, his father saved the day. He always, _always_ saved the day.

 

His dad didn’t come back to the hotel until late that night and his eye was cut and blackened.

 

Peter had tears in his own eyes when his father laid beside him.

 

“I’m alright… _hey_ , don’t cry.”

 

Peter croaked, holding Remy close to his chest, “You do _stupid_ stuff sometimes.”

 

His breath hitched and then…yeah, he was crying. Glaring at his father, angry and frustrated. He didn’t want to be in Monaco anymore, he wanted to go home. He wanted to be in his own bed, in his own house, and even though he didn’t remember his mom much, he missed her when stuff like that happened. When his father did stuff that could make Peter be alone.

 

Peter’s dad looked guilt ridden, and there was a bit of satisfaction in that, even if it hadn’t been the ultimate goal. The man shook his head back and forth, “I’m sorry…you’re right, I do really stupid stuff sometimes. And I shouldn’t. I’m…working on that.”

 

There was something under that. Something his dad wasn’t saying.

 

“You’re sick,” Peter insisted, “But you _lie_. You say you’re not.”

 

Peter grabbed his dad’s hand and continued, “I see you poke your fingers, you make them bleed.”

 

His dad said nothing. Just continued to stare at him, his eyes distant. Then he pulled his hand away and opened his arms. Peter wanted to say no, but ultimately, he hugged his father tightly. Because he was scared and confused and his dad was the only one there.

 

His father muttered into his hair, “I’m okay, Pete.”

 

Peter whispered, teary, “You’re _lying_.”

 

Then, weakly…

 

“I want my mom.”

 

The man didn’t say anything after that. Just tightened his grip in the slightest and Peter fell asleep eventually, resigning to the fact that his dad wasn’t going to put him down until he did so…

 

…

 

Peter’s dad made an omelet on the plane for Pepper.

 

Peter was pretending to play with his Legos at the time, but he heard his father say he didn’t want to go home.

 

Funny…Peter wanted to go home so much it had hurt the night before.

 

…

 

The bad thing happened soon after that.

 

His dad did a really _bad_ thing. Peter wasn’t even supposed to be there, he was supposed to be out with Ms. Goldrush until his father’s birthday ended. It was an adult party, after all. But…apparently the party had lasted longer than Ms. Goldrush had thought it was going to and the moment they walked in, Peter knew something insane was happening. Then Pepper was there, insisting they needed to go and then…crashing, walls coming in.

 

Uncle Rhodey and Peter’s dad were _fighting_.

 

Peter had seen them bicker before, but he had never seen them actually try to hurt each other. And Peter had never seen his uncle in one of his dad’s suits. There was thumping from above as Ms. Goldrush held his hand and for some reason, Pepper was yelling at Natalie. Peter felt his eyes burning, especially when the ceiling suddenly came down and his father and uncle plummeted into the room.

 

Pepper screamed, and Natalie moved away. Happy’s voice filtered through the shouts, “Pepper! Get outta here!”

 

Happy picked Peter up and Ms. Goldrush followed them all outside.

 

Peter didn’t see how the fight ended.

 

…

 

Peter wasn’t allowed to see his father that night or the next day.

 

Pepper said that his father needed some time alone. Peter didn’t _get_ that. His father didn’t need to be alone, because he was sick, but Peter thought that was probably a secret and wasn’t going to tell any of the other grownups. He especially didn’t get it when his father called, and Peter could hear him on the other end, demanding to know where Peter was, until eventually Pepper let his father talk to him.

 

_“You okay, kiddo?”_

Peter bit his lip, “You’re in a lot of trouble. Everyone is really mad at you.”

 

_“I know.”_

“I’m mad at you,” Peter said…but paused and amended, “I love you…and I don’t want you to be sick anymore. You do bad stuff when you’re sick. Bad and stupid stuff.”

 

There was a long, drawn out pause _, “I know…I love you too, baby.”_

Peter frowned. He didn’t like being called baby, he wasn’t one. Hadn’t been called one in a long time, especially by his father. But he allowed it. Shifted on the hotel bed as Pepper paced in the adjoining room, speaking to Happy, Natalie, and Ms. Goldrush in an angry voice. Peter asked quietly, “Am I gonna stay with Ms. Goldrush for a while?”

 

_“Either that or Pepper,”_ His dad said, _“Just for a little while. I’ve got a…friend…who is pretty much forcing me to get better. I’ll get it figured out.”_

Peter nodded, “Good…I like that friend.”

 

His dad laughed on the other end _, “Well, that makes one of us.”_

…

 

It was a while later when he saw his dad in person again.

 

Peter had gone with Happy and Natalie to pick up Pepper from her office. They were leaving, going to New York to go to the Expo again and Ms. Goldrush was going to meet them at the plane. Peter had bounded into the office, not really thinking much about it when he threw the door open to show his father, sitting in front of Pepper at her desk. Peter held onto the doorknob, brows furrowing downward as Natalie walked right in behind him.

 

“Wheels up in twenty-five minutes.”

 

“Dad!”

 

Peter rushed to his father almost immediately, despite Happy trying to tell him that his father was talking to Pepper. His dad silenced when Peter was in arms reach and he allowed himself to be enveloped in Peter’s tiny embrace. When Peter pulled away, he questioned, “Are you coming with us?”

 

His father tilted his head and looked back at Pepper and Natalie saying, “Well, I didn’t really know they were flying you across the country.”

 

“You were otherwise preoccupied,” Peter could hear the anger behind Pepper’s voice, “So, it was a group vote.”

 

“Funny, I thought the dad got the deciding vote over nonrelatives.”

 

“Not when he’s – like I said – preoccupied.”

 

Peter stared at his father’s face, eyes shifting from his dad to the other three adults. Happy just looked down at the ground and Natalie seemed to be staring into a space that wasn’t there. But Pepper and Peter’s dad were glaring at one another and Peter didn’t really understand. His father ran a hand through Peter’s hair though, breaking eye contact with Pepper to look down at him. Peter forced a smile, hoping it’d give his father some kind of comfort.

 

He just wanted his dad to be happy.

 

“Just…give us a minute,” His dad said, and when Pepper hesitated, as well as Natalie, Peter’s dad rolled his eyes, “If I wanted to walk out of here with him, I could. But I know better, I know that’s not a good idea right now. So, give me this. Thanks.”

 

That was when they were left alone, and Peter stared up into his father’s brown eyes. He still didn’t look very good. Still looked sick. But he lifted Peter into his arms, hugging him so tightly Peter thought he was going to be crushed. Peter hugged him back and listened as his father whispered quietly, “It’ll be okay soon. I’m gonna fix this. I’m gonna fix the house. And everything will be fine.”

 

Peter muttered in reply, “I don’t care about the house.”

 

“We gotta start somewhere,” His dad laughed, “That just seems like the easiest place to.”

 

His dad still felt warm.

 

“I’m going to make things better,” His dad promised, then confessed, “You were right…I’m sick. I’m sorry I lied.”

 

Peter shook his head, “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

 

That wasn’t a lie. Peter really wasn’t.

 

…

 

Peter had begged Ms. Goldrush to get him the plastic Iron Man mask and matching blaster.

 

He couldn’t wait to show his dad.

 

…

 

Peter really didn’t like the Hammer-Guy.

 

It was a circus. All of it. Justin Hammer didn’t have the same show as his father, but they had gone anyway. Peter, Ms. Goldrush, Natalie, and Pepper. They sat in the audience, and Peter held his mask in his hands while the drones appeared on stage. They were nothing like his father’s armor, yet people still clapped. People still liked them. And Peter would have been lying if he said he wasn’t a little ‘envious’ like what Ms. Goldrush had said.

 

Then Uncle Rhodey appeared on stage in the same suit he had used to fight Peter’s father in.

 

Peter couldn’t help but be a little hurt.

 

But his father flew in. Peter had cheered louder than _anyone_. Because that was his dad. That was his father’s armor. That was what he had built. There was very little understanding of what was going on, but Justin Hammer looked somewhat confused and Peter felt it. He felt it even more when _it_ happened.

 

Then that confusion turned to fear, and the world erupted.

 

Like an explosion, everyone started running. The drones marched, flew, broke the glass ceiling above and rained down on the stampede below. Ms. Goldrush grabbed Peter’s hand and Pepper told her to get Peter out while she and Natalie went somewhere else. But there were just too many people and Ms. Goldrush could only hold on so tightly. Peter’s hand slipped, and he hit the ground, people stepping over his small body.

 

He didn’t know how he got back up, but when he did, he slipped his mask over his face. He didn’t want people to see him crying. To see him scared. He was a Stark and Starks were brave. The crowd made it hard to be brave, and Peter was eventually pushed outside into the night and down the front steps as people screamed and the air ejected into explosions. He didn’t even know if he was running or just being pushed through the hoard when he made it down the steps and to a flattened surface out front.

 

Peter turned rapidly, breathing heavily against the mask in front of his face. Everyone moved around him now, a dark figure looming over him and casting a dark shadow in the artificial lighting. Until the sea of human split and one of the drones appeared above him. Peter raised his hand slowly, aiming his fake blaster at the robot. Some semblance of hope that something or anything would happen.

 

And then it did. It burst. Landed behind him and exploded and the robot did the same.

 

Peter jumped out of his skin and just as soon as the person had landed beside him, he was flying away, calling, “Nice work, kid.”

 

It was the blink of an eye. And Peter guessed his father didn’t recognize him with the mask over his face but with just that instant of rescue, of his father being there for a few moments, he felt safer. Could breathe easier. Because his dad was out there, stopping whatever was happening. Saving people who were fleeing. Everything was going to be okay.

 

It was going to be fine, because his dad was there.

 

Peter wandered for some time after that. He tried to find his way out, but he was eventually picked up by a police officer and taken away. Put into the back of a police cruiser before being brought to the station about fifteen minutes away from where the whole ordeal had taken place. There were dozens of children there, all wearing expo shirts. Peter sat patiently, his mask still on his face until an officer who was going around collecting children’s names plucked it off his head and kneeled in front of him.

 

“Do you know your mom and dad’s names?” The officer asked, holding his clipboard.

 

Peter nodded his head rapidly, “Tony Stark.”

 

The officer stared at him. Long and silent. He studied Peter’s face, eyes narrowing as he did so as if looking for something. Peter’s brows tugged as the man turned to the woman officer and ordered, “Penny, come look at this kid.”

 

‘Penny’ approached, a tall woman with bright red hair. She stared at the other officer expectantly and he asked her, “This kid look familiar?”

 

She too stared at Peter. Her head tilted before she shook it back and forth.

 

Peter would learn when he was older that they probably didn’t believe him. But at the time he had just been entirely confused and ended up being the last kid left there that night because they repeatedly asked who his parents were, and he repeatedly told them Tony Stark. When they finally did get in contact with his father, and his dad arrived fifteen minutes later with Pepper, his dad had yelled at them for what felt like hours. Peter’s father had then turned to him and plucked him off the chair he was still sitting in, holding him close and running a hand through his hair. Prodding his scalp, as if checking for any bumps.

 

“You okay?” His dad sounded breathless, worried. Peter felt guilty.

 

He nodded, “Mhm. I saw you stop the robots. You were awesome.”

 

His dad’s mouth turned upward a bit, but it didn’t drown out the terror that was still sewn in.

 

…

 

Natalie and Happy had been waiting in the car.

 

Natalie’s name wasn’t Natalie Rushman, it was Natasha Romanoff and she was apparently an ‘agent’.

 

Peter sat beside her, finally managing to squirm out of his father’s protective hold. He tilted his head at her, far to the side, trying to figure her out as she looked down at him with a raised eyebrow. Peter questioned, “So you could beat up Happy anytime you wanted?”

 

Happy sounded offended, calling from the driver’s seat, “No.”

 

But Natasha answered, “yes,” at the same time…And Peter believed her.

 

…

 

Peter and his father stayed in a hotel that night.

 

The news replayed images of his dad stopping the robots, the light from the television shining in the dark room. The heavy comforter weighed Peter down as he rolled over to look at his father, whose face was bruised, always. The light flickered off his brown eyes and they almost looked glassy with some sort of gone-away thought.

 

“Dad?” Peter whispered, and when his father hummed and looked at him, Peter asked, “Do you think Iron Man is the best thing you’ve _ever_ made?”

 

His dad glanced at the television once before shaking his head.

 

“No Pete. My greatest creation will always be you.”


	3. Avengers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you go guys! I hope you enjoy this chapter. I love you all! Let me know what you think ❤

“Is he almost done?”

 

Peter had asked the questioned at least a dozen times in the past five minutes, leaning over Pepper’s shoulder to see the monitors as she worked. His father was off, setting up the new power source for the latest and greatest invention of Stark Industries. Another assignment on the long list of things meant to help the company start anew in the past several years of reinventing and overhauling. Peter didn’t know all that. All he knew was something amazing was about to happen.

 

Pepper smiled over her shoulder, “Be patient. I swear, you’re as bad as Tony.”

 

_“Flesh and blood,”_ Peter’s father said over the com, _“But yeah, Pete. Almost done.”_

 

Peter had to hold in a delighted shout. He was getting too big to be squealing with excitement, so he instead bounced impatiently behind Pepper’s chair, waiting and waiting for what felt like forever. He had been excited for that night, since they had come to New York. Since Stark Tower plans had begun. Since he knew there would be a building, towering over the giant city, and Peter would be able to sit at the very top with his tiny family.

 

He smiled so broadly it almost hurt.

 

“It’s gonna be amazing!” Peter couldn’t hold the shout in any longer.

 

He rushed to the floor to ceiling glass windows and leaned against it, peering out at the city. His fingers pressed to the cold glass and he smiled, hoping to see his father fly back towards them. Peter heard a voice over the chat state to Pepper, _“You’re good on this end. The rest is up to you.”_

 

Peter jumped excitedly.

 

“You disconnected the transition lines? We’re off the grid?” Pepper questioned.

 

His dad hummed, _“Stark Tower is about to become a beacon of self-sustaining clean energy.”_

 

Pepper responded, “Wow. So maybe our reactor takes over and it actually works.”

 

“It’s gonna work!” Peter whirled back around, his grin refusing to falter, “Turn it on!”

 

The boy ran over to the monitor that showed the outside of the tower they were in. Pepper began to type quickly on the screen and several letters and numbers popped up across the glow. Then, almost instantly on the monitor, Peter watched the building begin to light up brightly, like a blue hue in giant STARK letters. He leaned forward in awe, and he could only imagine what it looked like on the outside.

 

Peter whispered, amazed, “What’s it look like from your end, Dad?”

 

_“Christmas, but with more…us,”_ His father mused.

 

Peter listened as his father and Pepper began to talk about press and working and how his father really just wanted to enjoy the moment they were in. Peter couldn’t take his eyes off the screen, his large brown irises soaking it all in. He wanted and wished desperately to be able to fly over the city, to be able to see what his father saw. His head tilted slightly when Jarvis spoke to his father, while the man was walking up the terrace towards the penthouse…

 

“Sir, Agent Coulson of SHIELD is on the line.”

 

“I’m not in,” His dad said, and Peter shook his head at the fib, “I’m actually out.”

 

“I’m afraid he’s insisting.”

 

Then his dad was walking in and Peter was rushing to meet him. His dad smirked at him as the boy hit him full force and he cut Jarvis off, “Close the line, Jarvis. I’ve got a double date.”

 

Peter laughed as he was slung upward in his father’s arm. The man then set him back down on the ground and grunted, “You’re almost getting too big for that, you know?”

 

“I know,” Peter rolled his eyes, trotting back down to where Pepper was with the computer, skipping ahead of his father’s steps in the slightest, “I tell you all the time I’m getting older. I’m almost eleven, I’ll be a grownup soon.”

 

His dad raised an eyebrow, “Don’t get ahead of yourself there, kiddo. You’ve still got a way to go before you’re a grown man.”

 

Peter made a beeline for Pepper to look at the screens for the third or fourth time. His father loomed over, joining her in studying it. Peter didn’t understand all of it, but he knew one day he would. One day he’d be an adult and he’d know more of what it had to say. Only some of it made sense, and the screen looked good from what Peter could tell and Pepper spoke, “Levels are holding steady…I think.”

 

“Of course they are, I was directly involved. Which brings me to my next question: how does it feel to be a genius?”

 

Peter smirked at the two of them before his face scrunched at their flirting/bickering. He continued to watch the screen while the two of them spoke to each other, his eyes trying to make sense of all of the numbers and letters. It was fascinating really, learning and seeing it. Being so close. His father and Pepper kept so many projects out of his view and as Peter got older and started to grasp things a bit more clearly, the more it made sense. His dad didn’t like him studying the Iron Man stuff. The reactor was an Iron Man thing, or at least it had been. Peter had yet to understand why it was frowned upon for him to take interest in the suits and the hero work.

 

It didn’t stop him from trying to figure it out.

 

“Give yourself some of the credit please,” His dad insisted from behind Peter, “Stark Tower is your baby. Give yourself…twelve percent of the credit.”

 

Pepper scoffed, “Twelve percent? For my baby?”

 

“Well I did do all the heavy lifting. Literally, I lifted the heavy things.”

 

Peter turned around to face the adults and Pepper was smirking at Peter’s father before she waved her hand and pointed at Peter, “That’s _your_ baby. This is _my_ baby.”

 

The boy pouted slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’m not a baby.”

 

Pepper looked over at him, her smile not faltering as she walked towards him and wrapped an arm around him lightly. She smoothed his messy curls down and pacified, “Alright, I forgot. You really are getting big, aren’t you? You’re growing up on us, we just forget sometimes.”

 

Something like pride swam through Peter while his father swung his finger at the pair in a disapproving manner, “Don’t feed the monster, Pepper. We haven’t even entered the teenage years and Pete already thinks he’s smarter and more capable than his old man. Which, by the way, needs to be put on delay for at least…twenty more years.”

 

Peter’s brows shot up and his jaw dropped, “Twenty years!?”

 

“Twenty,” His dad replied, making his way over to the champagne, “And I won’t accept any less.”

 

Peter trotted after him as his father filled two glasses, handing one to Pepper. Peter plopped down on the floor where he had his newest Lego kit set out and he began to play with some of them idly, ignoring the itching question in the back of his mind. He was tempted to ask, but he didn’t think he wanted to talk about it in front of Pepper. The choice was made for him though when Jarvis’ voice filtered back into the room.

 

“Sir, the telephone. I’m afraid my protocols are being overridden.”

 

Peter heard a man’s voice say, _“Stark, we need to talk.”_

 

The boy’s father plucked his phone out and held the screen out in front of his face, frustration clear as his voice dripped with sarcasm that made Peter want to laugh a little, “You have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark, leave a message.”

 

Peter dropped his Lego and covered his mouth to stifle a laugh as Pepper looked down at him with a less entertained stare. Before Peter could even uncover his mouth, the elevator made a sharp dinging sound and opened up. Peter’s brows tugged together as a man stepped into the room and Peter’s brain misfired for a moment with a spark of recognition at seeing the guy in the suit.

 

He was from the dream-memories. The ones Peter’s father rarely spoke about.

 

The dream-memories where Peter was in a dark room, with people he didn’t know.

 

Where his father was bleeding, hurt, his stomach gushing and Peter was crying. Small, teary, and they were so close Peter could almost grasp them before they slipped away. And that man had been there. Had taken Peter out of the room where his dad was hurt. Had held him in a hallway of never ending tile and blinking lights. It was definitely there, at the back of the boy’s mind. But not enough to hold. Not enough to tell the truth.

 

His dad’s voice snapped, “Uh security breach.”

 

Pepper exclaimed, “Phil! Come in! We’re celebrating.”

 

“Phil? His first name is Agent,” Peter’s dad said and Peter was left alone, sitting and blinking on the floor as both his father and Pepper approached the man. Peter watched silently, unable to process what they were saying, even as the images flashed across the monitors and things became deathly serious. Stuff about something called ‘the Avengers Initiative’. _Stuff_ Peter couldn’t get between his ears and he wished he could. But he just couldn’t stop looking at Phil Coulson. Couldn’t understand.

 

Agent? Like Natasha was?

 

Pepper’s voice whispered in awe, “I’m going to take the jet to D.C. tonight.”

 

“Tomorrow,” His father argued.

 

“You’ve got homework,” Pepper insisted, “ _A lot_ of homework.”  

 

Pepper whispered something in Peter’s father’s ear. Peter though looked at Phil who had decided to look away from the couple. Peter had become adjusted to them being kissy with each other, so he stood from where he was sitting in front of his Legos and slowly made his way over to the ‘agent’. Once he was noticed, Phil Coulson looked down at him, his face unreadable and usually Peter could see things in faces. There was a spark of recognition though and the man greeted Peter in a soft and kind voice, “Hello Peter.”

 

“Do you remember me?” Peter questioned.

 

Coulson glanced over at Pepper and Peter’s dad who were still whispering to each other, the conversation with the boy and agent going unnoticed. He then returned his gaze to Peter and nodded his head, “I do…Do you remember _me_?”

 

“Sorta,” Peter said, “You’re one of the dream-memories.”

 

Phil looked startled by the statement, just a little. It was barely there and then suddenly Peter was being pulled back gently against his father’s side. He looked up at the man, but his dad’s eyes were focused on Phil, shrouded with good humor, but there was also a bit of worry there as well as he said half-jokingly, half-not, “You spilling government secrets over here, Coulson?”

 

The agent’s shoulders straightened, “Only the top shelf information.”

 

Peter felt his father’s hand rub soothing circles on his shoulder, but Peter didn’t really get that because he didn’t feel afraid or worried about anything. Just confused and curious, because here was one of the people from those dream-memories, right in front of him and he was apparently an agent. A real person. Someone Tony’s father rarely acknowledged had ever been real, but Peter knew it had been _real_.

 

Peter didn’t get to ask Phil Coulson the questions he wanted to ask him, because he left, along with Pepper that night. Peter’s father called Ms. Goldrush to come over, but insisted on tucking Peter into bed himself before pursing whatever Phil Coulson had brought over for him. Peter didn’t like the idea of his father having to go away. Of him having to leave for any reason. So forty-two minutes later, after a brief and silent tantrum, Peter was brought to his temporary room in the tower, slung over his father’s shoulder.

 

His dad dropped him onto the bed and sat down beside him. Peter’s lip was trembling, and it wasn’t new for his father to have to leave for work, but this wasn’t Stark Industries work. This was something that had made his father’s brows tug together, so similar to when the man with the whips had tried to hurt them. Peter hid the way his eyes watered and he guessed his father didn’t notice, because the man ruffled his hair and hummed, “Get some sleep, kiddo. I think Goldrush has some cool stuff planned for the next few days while I’m gone.”

 

Peter crawled under the blankets silently, before rolling over in protest, not saying a word. A surprised sound escaped his father and he felt the man tug on his shoulder, “Hey, what’s with the silent thing?”

 

The protest only lasted a few moments before Peter flopped onto his back and stared up at his dad. He crossed his arms over his chest and said, “I wanna come with you.”

 

“What?” His dad breathed, “Oh…no, kiddo, this isn’t the kind of work you can come with me to do. This is Iron Man stuff.”

 

Peter shot straight up and exclaimed, “I wanna help though! I could help! I’m big enough to be an Iron Man too.”

 

His dad shook his head, letting out a small laugh, but it didn’t sound like a _real_ laugh. It actually sounded afraid, “You can’t be Iron Man. You’re…you’re not even eleven yet. You’ve gotta uh…you’ve gotta be an adult to be in a suit, like Uncle Rhodey and me.”

 

“Well I will be,” Peter insisted sharply, “I’ll be a grownup one day, and I’ll make my own Iron Man and I’ll do what you do.”

 

Peter felt like someone had thrown cold water on him when his father’s voice replied, sounding matter-of-fact…like in the way he spoke when the conversation was slipping into something he wasn’t going to debate about. Into something that was ‘non-negotiable’ as Pepper called it so many times in Peter’s short life.

 

“You won’t,” His dad said, “You won’t, _ever_.”

 

Peter’s lip trembled again as his fingers tightened in his comforter and sheets. He felt frustrated and he just didn’t understand it. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t do what his father did. Why he couldn’t help him, so his dad wouldn’t have to do it all alone and be afraid or hurt. The world was scary, and Peter wanted to be there, with his father. He just wanted to help.

 

“Well when I’m a grownup you can’t tell me what to do!”

 

“ _Hey_ ,” Peter jumped at how sharp his father’s voice sounded. Like a bite. A voice he very rarely heard. Peter chewed the inside of his cheek as he father continued, “Don’t talk to me like that.”

 

Peter ducked his head down, his face burning with frustration, but he didn’t say anymore. He heard his father sigh deeply, and a hand pressed to the left side of Peter’s face before a kiss planted itself in his moppy and freshly washed curls. His father gently prodded his scalp in a comforting manner, a way to say sorry without really saying it out loud. Peter finally looked back up, trying not to let his voice waver as he said, “At least tell me if Agent Coulson was one of the dream-memories.”

 

It was almost like a game. The two of them did it whenever the dream-memories were mentioned. Peter would ask if something had really happened, if someone had been there, if something and something and something led to this and that. And his father would answer him. They never delved too deeply unless the dream-memories got scary and his father had to explain them. Had to explain the scar from a bullet on his abdomen. Had to explain the dark room.

 

“Yes,” His dad said, “He’s one of the dream-memories.”

 

Peter nodded, satisfied with the answer. His father pushed Peter’s bangs off his forehead and studied him closely before whispering, “For a kid that looks just like Mary, you sure do act a lot like me.”

 

Peter didn’t think he was supposed to…but he felt proud of that.

 

…

 

It was the next night, late, that the phone call came.

 

Peter hadn’t expected his father to call, especially since it had gotten late. So late that he had been asleep when Ms. Goldrush came into his bedroom in Stark Tower with the phone. She had sat Peter up straight in bed and pressed the phone to his ear before leaving him to speak to his father. Peter rubbed his eyes, blinking blearily as he answered softly, “Hello?”

 

_“Sorry to wake you up, buddy. Just checking in.”_

 

Peter yawned and stretched slightly, awake and aware almost immediately and he questioned, “That’s okay, is cool stuff happening?”

 

His dad laughed in response, _“If cool involves frozen super-soldiers being melted and gods falling out of the sky, then yeah, cool stuff is happening.”_

 

Peter’s eyes widened.

 

“That would be under the cool list, Dad! Can I come see?”

 

_“Afraid not, kiddo. It’s all super-secret stuff so don’t go telling all that to your little friend Ted.”_

 

“Ned,” Peter corrected, picking at his blankets, “When are you coming back? N-Not that I don’t like the tower and stuff, but I miss DUM-E and the workshop…”

 

Peter wasn’t going to mention how they left Remy the Rabbit at home in Malibu because Peter had insisted on _not_ taking him with them. He was going to be eleven soon. He didn’t need Remy anymore. But the decision had been on a whim and Peter was regretting it now. He’d never admit that though, especially since his father had told him to bring the stuffed animal and Peter had argued that he was too big for that.

 

His dad must have known the real reason why he wanted to go home, because he just hummed, _“I should be back soon, and we can fly to Malibu. Remy will still be there when we get back.”_

 

“I don’t need Remy,” Peter muttered petulantly.

 

_“Yeah, yeah…Alright grown-man, get some sleep. I’ll call again when I can.”_

 

“Okay,” Peter whispered, “Be…be careful please.”

 

“Always kid. I love you.”

 

“Love you.”

 

…

 

“I heard a rumor Captain America is back.”

 

Peter’s head whipped in Ned’s direction. Ms. Goldrush had dropped him over for their ‘playdate’ about two hours before (Peter didn’t like when she used that word, he was trying so hard to be taken seriously and it was hard enough being ten, he didn’t need to go on playdates). They had spent the better part of the ‘date’ destroying Ned’s house and raiding the fridge. Peter particularly appreciated that Ned’s mother let them eat ice cream and dinosaur chicken nuggets for lunch.

 

“Huh?” Peter spoke, his mouth full of chewed up food.

 

“I heard a rumor he’s back,” Ned repeated, “You know, the guy from the war-“

 

Peter rolled his eyes, “I know who he was, Ned. My grandad helped like… _create_ him or something. Dad hates when people talk about him…”

 

He paused, considering Ned’s words carefully. It was an odd subject change, but they had only been talking about sneaking a scary ‘R’ rated movie into the house somehow, wondering who would sell to two ten-year-olds. Peter went on, “Why would he be back? Wouldn’t he be super old and wrinkly by now?”

 

Ned’s shoulders raised and fell, “I dunno…My grandma was talking about it and his picture was on the front of her conspiracy magazine.”

 

“My dad says those are fake.”

 

Ned raised an eyebrow, “Your dad is Iron Man, I bet he knows all kinds of secret stuff.”

 

Peter thought about that too. He hated sometimes how Ned’s questions made him go into the little dark place in his mind where the scary stuff lived. The questions of whether what his father did was right or wrong or not so much, because his father was a hero. Peter knew that. A _super_ hero. But some of the stuff people said…the stuff Peter insisted to himself were lies…sometimes they dug claws in.

 

_“If cool involves frozen super-soldiers being melted and gods falling out of the sky, then yeah, cool stuff is happening.”_

Peter shoved another dinosaur nugget into his mouth.

 

Ned’s mother suddenly appeared in the doorway and she smiled at the pair. She nodded her head behind her and said, “Peter, your ride is here.”

 

The boys pouted for only a few minutes, but it was the usual for their ‘playdates’. Happy would be waiting downstairs in the car and they’d make the journey back to Manhattan. Happy would stay with him in the tower until Ms. Goldrush finished her errands for the day and they’d have dinner and Peter would be put to bed. If he was lucky, his dad would call, and that was what Peter hated most about when his father went to do Iron Man stuff. He never knew if his dad would find the time to do so.

 

Ned’s mother walked Peter down to the lobby and out onto the front steps of the apartment building. Peter bounded to the car where Happy had the door already open and Peter hopped inside, waiting patiently as Happy walked back around and climbed into the driver’s seat, pulling away from the curb.

 

“Happy,” Peter said, leaning forward and placing his hands on the back of the passenger side seat, “Has my dad texted or called you any today?”

 

“Not today, kid,” Happy answered gruffly before turning his head slightly. His brows tugged, “Put on your seat belt. We’ve had this conversation before, your dad will-“

 

“Fire you and break your sunglasses in half if I get thrown out of the car, I know,” Peter mumbled under his breath, leaning back and buckling himself up. It was a speech he had heard several times before, and he had only just gotten tall enough to not need a booster seat anymore. They always threatened to put him back into one if he didn’t follow Happy’s rules in the car, but Peter didn’t believe them sometimes because Happy had hated having to help Peter with that booster seat when he was younger.

 

Peter sighed and glanced out the window, “I hope he calls.”

 

“I’m sure he will when he gets the chance,” Happy replied, “This is a…big thing right now.”

 

The boy’s head whipped in Happy’s direction and he tried to lean forward again, forgetting his seatbelt just a moment. It locked and tugged him backward and Peter grunted in frustration as he questioned quickly, “You know what they’re up to?”

 

Happy didn’t say anything. Peter insisted, unable to move much from the locked seatbelt, “Happy!”

 

“Kid,” Happy warned, “When your voice cracks like that it makes my ears want to bleed.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes before going and unhooking the seatbelt with the intention of letting it go lax and unlock before rebuckling. He grumbled under his breath, fighting with the object, “You and Dad are the worst about secrets. I just wanna know what’s going on, it’s not like I’m gonna-“

 

“SHIT!”

 

The car swerved suddenly as something blue exploded and the taxi that had been driving in front of them erupted into a ball of flames. The Rolls Royce jolted, sliding sideways before flipping onto its side and Peter tumbled out of his seat, body somersaulting in the vehicle as they rolled. He felt like he was in a washing machine, tumbling and twisting and never going to stop. No pain, it felt more like being on air and then nothing and silence…Then screaming.

 

Lots and lots of screaming. Not from inside the car though…from the outside.

 

The car stopped tumbling and landed on its right side. Peter shifted, broken glass crunching underneath his body as he rolled from his side onto his stomach, his left elbow burning and he could feel something warm sliding down his forehead and onto his cheek. The world was blurred at the edges, like water, and Peter gasped to catch his breath as everything came into focus. A figure in the front seat was moving, kicking, and Peter’s ears were ringing as more explosions erupted from around them.

 

What was…?

 

“Kid!” Happy’s voice shouted, and Peter realized the person flailing in the front seat was him, “Peter! Talk to me!”

 

But Peter couldn’t. He could barely draw air into his lungs. Happy’s leg kicked out the window and Peter felt someone pulling him, telling him to be careful of the glass, but Peter really wasn’t doing anything. He was hardly moving and he felt stiff until he was brought into the bright sunlight, blinking blearily when he was set against the side of their crumbled car. Happy’s hands were on both sides of his face and Peter saw the man’s nose was bleeding, but Happy seemed to be inspecting something on Peter’s forehead. And when Happy touched too close, Peter snapped back to reality, crying out and cringing.

 

Happy cupped his face, “Look at me, Peter. Can you hear me?”

 

Peter nodded, swallowing thickly, flinching as another explosion went off. People…herds of them…ran by in packs and Peter couldn’t process what was happening around him. When Happy pulled his hand back from Peter’s head, he saw that Happy’s hand was covered in blood. Peter’s hand flew to his own forehead and when he touched the warm substance, his fingers too came back red.

 

“What’s happening?” Peter couldn’t take his focus off his hand. His eyes were burning, and he felt his heart racing, but his brain wasn’t putting it together. None of it made sense.

 

Happy shook his head, “I don’t know, but we’re leaving.”

 

Peter didn’t get to catch up mentally before he was suddenly lifted and he didn’t even argue over the fact that he was _nearly eleven_ and didn’t want to be carried. The numbness in his body was slipping away as Happy carried him through the street where explosions were going off. They ducked into a restaurant where several other pedestrians had run into and Happy dragged him into the corner of the small venue, grabbing a handful of napkins off a small round table before pressing them onto Peter’s forehead, making the boy shout.

 

Feeling was definitely coming back. Peter’s urge to cry was becoming more evident as his eyes watered profusely, watching as people started crouching behind chairs and the counter. Women in yellow uniforms hid as well and Peter held onto Happy’s arm for dear life. He looked back at the man, his nose still bleeding.

 

“H-Happy?” Peter’s voice wavered. He wanted to be brave. He wanted to be like his dad. But his chest felt like fire and everything, every bone, curve, it was all hurting and he just wanted his dad to be there, “I wanna go home.”

 

Happy looked at him, and it was the first time he had ever seen Happy afraid. His eyes blown. The man wasn’t one for tender touches, but he held Peter close then and Peter held him back as the man reassured, “Imma get you there, kid.”

 

More people folded in and then without warning, the glass windows shattered and grey smoke filled the room. Peter felt things falling, like stones on top of him and Happy’s hands were suddenly wrenched away. Peter started crawling, desperately and blindly, looking for a way out, feeling as someone stomped on his fingers and someone else tripped over him. Peter went towards the light, coughing and gasping as he was covered in the odd grey dust before emerging out into the street where Happy had brought him in.

 

The amount of people was unreal and Peter suddenly felt like he was back there…back at the Expo those years ago when he couldn’t find Ms. Goldrush. Peter climbed to his feet, the napkins staunching the blood on his forehead long gone. The blood mixed with dust and turned to gunk as Peter looked up at Stark Tower in the distance, and he tried to process what he was seeing through the battle.

 

A bright beam was shooting into the sky and at the end of that beam was some sort of hole in which creatures… _monsters_ were exiting and attacking the city.

 

Peter felt more tears flowing just as another hoard of people ran by and he was knocked to the ground by someone on accident. Peter began to crawl, rocks flying overhead and a woman shouted, as if in agony, but he saw no one besides figures in the cloud. Peter pressed against a giant slab of rubble, covering his ears with his hands and curling in on himself tightly, gasping and trying and ‘ _no, no, no’_ air. No air.

 

Then someone was yanking him up.

 

And they were running.

 

Peter wrapped his arms around the persons neck, half-expecting to see the black blazer Happy had been wearing. But instead all he saw was _blue, blue, blue_. Dirty, dusty, but blue. Like the sky when it was going to rain. Peter held tight and the person ran, faster than Peter had ever felt someone run before. Then they were stopping, kneeling, hiding behind a taxi…

 

“You okay?”

 

Peter looked up, past the sun, Stark Tower still framed behind the stranger’s head. Peter tried to process who he was looking at, but he didn’t recognize the man’s face. It was familiar and he knew he had seen it, but there was no name…no nothing…until his eyes landed on the man’s chest…

 

The star.

 

The red and white stripes.

 

Peter’s breath hitched. He had seen the pictures. Snooping through his grandad’s old things that his father didn’t let people touch, but Peter snuck the stuff away, despite that. Peter couldn’t speak…couldn’t process it…because the stories, well, they had been pretty vivid recounts of what had happened. Of the hero that saved the outcome of the war.

 

“Captain America,” Peter whispered in disbelief.

 

The man was looking around rapidly as the world continued to erupt around them. He then looked back down at Peter, leaning over him protectively as he explained, “Don’t worry, the police are getting people off the street. I’ll get you to one of them-“

 

Peter interrupted, not really thinking, “Is my dad with you? Was that the super-secret stuff? Melting a super-soldier?”

 

That seemed to grab Captain America’s attention from the ensuing battle. Before the man could reply however, a dark figure broke between the two of them and Peter shouted in terror as Captain America raised a fist to strike said figure. But it… _Happy_ , raised his hands in response, but didn’t hesitate to yank Peter up.

 

Peter felt himself be lifted _again_ , as Happy shouted, “What the hell are you doin’ down here?! Christ, Tony is gonna kill me - ”

 

Peter leaned around Happy and Captain America made eye contact with him again as Peter tried to ask quickly, “Is my dad helping you? Where is he?!”

 

Happy seemed to notice _this was Captain America_ for the first time and the hero looked like he was at a loss for words at the boy’s question. Confused as he looked between Peter and Happy. Happy’s face paled, looking down at Captain America’s chest, maybe coming to the same conclusion that Peter had come to, Peter theorized. He held Happy’s arm, almost too large to be carried anymore. Lanky.

 

Before his question could be answered though, there was a whoosh overhead. Air. And Peter looked up, watching as a small dot with something on top of it was flying towards the tower in the distance. Peter’s fingers dug into Happy jacket and he exclaimed, “Dad!”

 

Captain America looked at him, “Tony is your father?”

 

“Yes!” Peter replied, “Where’s he going!?”

 

Captain American whirled back to face the tower, then pressed something on his ear. His voice escaped quietly, and Peter thought maybe he was trying to make it so Peter wouldn’t hear him over the screaming and explosions. But he did…he heard him…and Peter’s heart sank, stomach twisted, and no air would come into his lungs and God…he didn’t understand again…

 

“Stark…You know that’s a one-way trip.”

 

The portal. The tiny dot.

 

Peter’s father was that tiny dot.

 

That tiny dot with some sort of rocket.

 

Peter squirmed out of Happy’s grip, kicking and clawing until eventually Happy had no choice but to let him go, clearly pained by the sudden screams that were erupting from Peter’s throat. He rushed down the street, as if he could run to the tower and stop his father who was flying closer to the darkness – to nothing and never ending _anything_ – Peter was going to explode. He was going to shred to pieces, right there in the Manhattan street and he just wanted to be home, in Malibu, with his father and Pepper. With Remy and his bed. He wanted his forehead to stop bleeding and he wanted to _not be there_.

 

Peter stumbled, and nearly fell, but kept running until a strong arm, stronger than any arm he had ever been held by, stopped him. Peter whirled, looking up and struggling at he took in a massive man with a red cloak staring down at him as Captain America and Happy jogged forward. Peter dug his fingernails into the giant’s arm, shouting and spitting and God… _his dad…his dad…_

 

“What is Stark doing?” The man in the red cloak wasn’t even breaking a sweat, was barely looking at Peter as he held him back and pushed him into Captain America’s hold.

 

Captain America whispered softly, keeping Peter at bay, “He’s…nuking them.”

 

_And then, and then, and then…_

 

His father disappeared.

 

“No!” Peter screamed. He screamed his throat raw and he couldn’t understand why. Why did his dad have to _always_ be the hero? Why couldn’t someone else do it? Peter turned and slammed a tiny fist into Captain America’s abdomen and he didn’t know why, because he hadn’t hit anyone in his life, especially not a _super hero_. But he was angry, and Captain America was just standing there, letting it happen. Letting his father go away.

 

Peter hit the man repeatedly and Captain America grabbed the boy’s small wrists, holding them. Captain America wasn’t saying anything, and Peter felt the tears streak down his face, forming tracks on the dust. Peter hated them. He hated them for letting his father do that. For letting him disappear into oblivion and Peter didn’t understand _anything_.

 

None of the men said much. Just watched Peter have a temper tantrum, if it could even be called that. Watched him fall into pieces. He wished he could disappear into the rubble. He wished he could go away.

 

Captain America was holding too tight.

 

But the key closed.

 

Out fell a figure, above head, small and falling, plummeting down.

 

“Son of a gun,” Captain American whispered.

 

Peter couldn’t breathe. Because…because…

 

The man next to them in the red cloak started to spin his hammer, “He’s not slowing down.”

 

A giant green monster flew out of nowhere and grabbed the limp figure that Peter just couldn’t believe might be his father. But when the green monster landed beside all of them and dropped the vessel, and the man in the red cloak ripped off the mask and threw it to the side, Peter saw the face of his father. It couldn’t be him though, lying still like that with his eyes closed, as if he was just sleeping. Peter dropped down next to him.

 

He placed his hands on his father’s chest, and sniffled.

 

“Dad?” He whispered.

 

His voice was too thick, and Peter didn’t think he could breathe. His nose was clogged with snot and dust and he felt filthy, there in the sun. Peter leaned forward slightly, over his father and he croaked, “Wake up.”

 

Nothing. Peter slammed his hands into the metal of the suit.

 

“Wake up!”

 

He was so angry. Like a fire was in his skull, making his ears buzz. It wasn’t fair, and it never was. Never would be. There were so many things he hated about being young and small and left at home. He should have been able to help, somehow, during the fight. But he had been able to do _nothing_. And he was surrounded by a stranger with a hammer, a green giant, Happy, and a hero he had only ever heard stories about.

 

Peter screamed again, “Wake _up_!”

 

This time, the green monster screamed with him.

 

His father’s eyes opened, and he gasped.

 

Peter and his father made eye contact, when the man could blink through the blur. The moment they focused on each other, Peter let out a sob, crumbling forward into the hard armor. The armor that did very little. He felt his father put a hand on the back of his head, but said nothing.

 

Peter preferred it that way for a moment

 

…

 

Peter got three stitches in his forehead.

 

He didn’t tell his father is was because he had taken off his seat belt. He actually didn’t say much to his father at all after they had gone to get patched up by some people in lab coats and a nice woman in scrubs. Peter had limited most of his communication to nodding his head silently, because his throat was raw from so much screaming and he felt like if he tried to speak, it would hurt worse.

 

There wasn’t much he could say to his father anyway. He didn’t know what to say.

 

Even when they went to eat Shawarma. Peter had sat at the table, shyly, with his hands in his lap, occasionally whispering to Natasha because she was the only one he really knew. They were nearing about twenty minutes into the meal when the man with the bow and quiver looked at Peter closely and then at Peter’s father before asking, “So…you gonna introduce us or are we just supposed to sit in an awkward silence for the next hour?”

 

Peter’s dad looked up. He had been a bit out of it too. Everyone was. The city was a wreck. They were all tired and Peter just wanted to go home. His dad looked at him, and smiled, maybe genuine, Peter couldn’t tell as he placed a hand on top of Peter’s head before waving his free hand nonchalantly, “Right, well…everyone, this is Peter.”

 

His dad looked at him and then continued, “Pete, this is everyone. You’ve obviously met our triple-dipple agent, Nat. And there’s Clint, the idiot with the bow and arrows. The closest thing to a genius: Bruce Banner. Thor with the hammer, and last but _certainly_ least: Steve Rogers on drums.”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow and his dad smirked, “Band joke. We’re a super-secret-rockband. The Avengers.”

 

“You’re really bad at dad-jokes,” Clint commented, taking a bite of his food.

 

His dad looked at him, “You don’t gotta acknowledge him, he joined us last minute. I’m going to request he get kicked off, considering he ran out of arrows at some point during the fight and became virtually useless.”

 

Clint just rolled his eyes and Peter’s focus scanned the table, stopping on Captain America. He cleared his throat, though it still came out hoarse as he whispered, “C-Captain?”

 

The man’s head snapped in his direction, surprised. Even Peter’s father looked slightly taken aback considering it was one of the first things he had said since the entire ordeal. Steve Rogers’ face softened, and he said, “You can call me Steve, Peter.”

 

“R…right,” Peter chose his words carefully, “I just wanted to tell you I’m-m really sorry. About hitting you earlier.”

 

Natasha raised an eyebrow, “He hit you?”

 

Thor spoke, spitting out a bit of food as he did so, “Starkson was very ferocious against Rogers.”

 

Peter felt his face burn with embarrassment. His father’s hand slid over the hair on the nape of his neck and Peter just felt so tired as Steve Rogers laughed a bit and replied, “Apology accepted. But, you didn’t have to say sorry for that.”

 

But he did. Peter really did.

 

He looked over at his dad who was watching him as the others dipped into their own conversations that didn’t necessarily pertain to them. Peter’s father was awake. Alive. There with him and yet Peter still felt a giant hole in his chest. One void and frightened. Like ice, crawling out and around his lips, making it impossible to speak and it sucked because he was surrounded by the world’s greatest heroes and he just felt too… _awful_ to be excited.

 

His dad made him take at least a couple bites of his food and Peter did his best not to vomit it up.

 

…

 

When they got back to the tower, which was in disarray, Peter found himself unable to say much to his dad. Unable to look at him without seeing his lax and sleeping face. And Peter would have escaped to his own room and laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, if his father hadn’t stopped him by stepping into his path and putting his hands on both of Peter’s shoulders. Peter stared up with wide, confused eyes when his dad lifted him and set him on the counter.

 

_Peter was almost eleven, he didn’t need to be lifted_.

 

That wasn’t _real_ anymore.

 

His father leaned forward, looking at him closely, and Peter felt a lot like a bug under a microscope. Peter’s dad pushed the boy’s hair back, and Peter could only guess he was inspecting the bandaged wound on his forehead. Peter spoke, before his father could. He didn’t know what his dad was going to say, but Peter wanted to say something first.

 

“I could help you.”

 

His dad looked taken by surprise and Peter went on, “You never have to do that again. Next time…I could help you.”

 

The man shook his head, “There won’t be a next time.”

 

Peter could tell he didn’t even believe that himself, because his eyes did that thing they always did when he was lying. Peter gripped his hands into small fists and they shook slightly, still hurting from where he had dug his nails in earlier.

 

“I’m going to help you one day.”

 

There was a sigh. A hand carded through Peter’s messy hair and his dad’s voice came out soft, “The goal is that one day no one will _have_ to. Especially not you.”

 

Peter didn’t know what to say to that. He was really at a loss. Because bad things happened to them and they happened a lot. That seemed to be their life. Peter blinked rapidly, his eyes burning because he just didn’t know how to convince his father that he didn’t _have_ to do this alone. That Peter could and _would_ help him. His eyes glistened, and his dad reached forward and lifted him off the counter.

 

“Shhh, I’ve got ya, kid.”

 

Peter wrapped his arms tightly around his father’s neck and hid his face.

 

He didn’t know how to be a grownup if no one would let him or listen and he cried when he got frustrated. He wasn’t scared anymore, he knew he was safe with his father there, he just wanted his father to hear what he had to say and just let him do _something_.

 

“Lemme show you something.”

 

Peter didn’t unbury his face from his dad’s shoulder, but his dad was carrying him somewhere. He felt a breeze, and finally he did decide to lift his face. They were in the main room, where the window had been shattered and the floor had been smashed in. They approached one of the holographic tables and his father set him down slowly on his feet to stand beside him.

 

His dad waved a hand over it and a blue hue took over the night enveloped room. It shone on their faces and Peter looked up at it in awe. A large replica of the tower they were in with the giant STARK letters on the front. The man glanced down at him, before waving again and removing all of the giant letters except for the ‘A’.

 

Peter sniffled through his clogged nose and smiled, tentative…small.

 

The boy whispered softly…

 

“Avengers Tower.”

 

_That_ looked so much more like Christmas.


	4. Iron Man III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is so long, I really hadn't intended it to be. I hope it's okay though, and I hope you all enjoy it! Let me know what you think and if you read the whole thing, you're a real trooper haha!

Sometimes Peter saw it again.

 

Again, again, and again.

 

He didn’t tell anyone that, though he didn’t know if it was a secret or not. Sometimes things that weren’t supposed to be secrets felt a lot like them. Peter kept his mouth shut either way, because it didn’t seem fair to say anything about it. Mostly because he knew his dad was on a shelf higher, way high up to where Peter couldn’t imagine being. A bad place where oxygen was hard to come by, so Peter just dealt with it. The nightmares, of his father plummeting to earth, like a flicker. Like a light. The wormhole shutting, and out plummeting a figure.

 

Except sometimes in the dreams, no one caught his dad.

 

And that wormhole flickered shut.

 

There was Peter, and there was his dad.

 

That distance was almost insatiable, and it ate Peter up, so Peter slept outside his father’s door because he felt…well, he was far too old to ask to sleep in his father’s room and Pepper had moved in, which made things different. So, he slept on the floor, but most nights his father wasn’t even in his room, he was somewhere else. In the lab, tinkering, or what-not. Things Peter wasn’t allowed to do, because the lab was still a place he had to ask permission to enter.

 

And then there were nights too, where Peter couldn’t sleep either. So, he went down, and watched. He watched what his dad built, and Jarvis never told on him anymore. Peter thought maybe the AI felt sorry for him, if AIs felt sorry. There was something demeaning in that, but Peter wasn’t going to complain because he wanted to be able to watch his father work without being scolded for being awake so late at night, even if he was on holiday break from school.

 

So that night was no different.

 

Peter crept down the stairs, framed slightly by the light of one of their smaller, decorative Christmas trees that reflected off the glass leading into the lab. Peter crouched, low to the ground as he took in the figure of his father. He was sitting, and Peter’s brows tugged and he frowned when he watched the man inject something into his arm several times, speaking upward as if talking to Jarvis.

 

Peter knew by now these antics were nonsensical. His father was building multiple suits and Peter fought the urge to laugh when his dad started dancing to a music that Peter could only hear the light hum of. It was funny though, but not really. Peter knew his dad hadn’t slept in probably three days or so. The thought itself was disturbing, because even Peter slept. Even Peter didn’t stay up that long, and if the nightmares were bad for him, he couldn’t imagine what they were like for his dad to make him _never_ sleep.

 

The pieces of his father’s suit started to fly towards him, and Peter was finally understood what the injections must have been. A remote of sorts, calling to the pieces of Mark-Trillion. Peter wasn’t sure of the exact number his father had made it to, he never gave a clear answer, but Peter knew it had to be high up there. His father flipped, the face plate making contact and Peter smiled until it a piece slammed into his father shattering his suit completely.

 

Peter covered his mouth with both hands to stop himself from cackling. Ultimately though, the sound had carried, and Peter’s father looked back towards the stairs, through the glass window while he scraped himself up off the ground. Peter’s eyes widened, and immediately he turned and rushed up the stairs.

 

He made it all the way to his room before diving under his blankets with the lights switched off, breathing heavily. Remy was under his pillow, hidden away, only for emergencies and Peter laid there for a good six minutes in silence, his heart beating out of his ears. He thought, or started to think, he had gotten away with it. That he wasn’t in trouble. Until his light switched on, on that seven-minute mark and Peter dove deeper under the blankets.

 

“Alright pipsqueak, face the music,” His father’s voice ordered.

 

It didn’t sound angry. Sarcastic, more than anything, but that was just his father. Peter pushed the blankets back, peeking out from under as his dad entered the room further before coming to sit on the edge up the bed. He waved a hand, “Sit up. Up here with me.”

 

Peter pushed himself to his elbows first, then all the way up. His dad sighed, leaning forward slightly and raising an eyebrow as he came level with Peter. Peter chewed his lower lip. His father didn’t look angry. More like he was facing something, something that was an issue and Peter didn’t _want_ to be an issue. He just hadn’t wanted to sleep on the floor outside his father’s bedroom again, was all.

 

“Wanna tell me why you’re being a lurker at almost three in the morning?” His dad questioned, breaking the quiet that Peter hated so much. His room had a unique silence, enveloped by the air-conditioner’s hum because his room was the closest.

 

Peter shrugged, “I dunno.”

 

His dad pursed his lips, disbelieving, “You…don’t know?”

 

Peter nodded his head.

 

“Mhm,” His dad sat up straight, “Then I guess you also don’t know why I’ve found you sleeping outside mine and Pepper’s room for the past few months?”

 

The boy shook his head.

 

His dad let out a defeated sigh, looking around the room. Peter recognized the movements. Movements to grasp at straws and there had been a lot of that since New York had happened. The way his father’s eyes would flicker to the scar on Peter’s forehead where he had gotten the stitches.

 

He was blinking heavily, and Peter watched, heart clenching. Peter was worried, but he didn’t know why. He just knew his father wasn’t sleeping, and neither was Peter, but he at least slept from time to time. His dad never did, besides occasional naps here and there. Peter looked at his hands when his dad looked down at him once more, and he always felt like a shadow under that gaze. Peter’s thumbs moved, and he gulped past the lump in his throat.

 

“I want you to go to sleep,” His dad said.

 

Peter blinked, “Only if you do.”

 

His father looked slightly taken aback. Not quite sputtering, but as if he wanted to. But he didn’t say much in response. It was like, that not-sputtering turned into deep contemplation and deep contemplation turned into acceptance.

 

He nodded, “Okay, let’s negotiate.”

 

…

 

The negotiation wasn’t much of a negotiation.

 

Peter fell asleep and he didn’t get to see if his father did or not.

 

…

 

“Some people call me a terrorist, I consider myself a teacher. America, ready for another lesson. In 1864 in Sand Creek Colorado the U.S. military waited till the friendly Cheyenne braves had all gone hunting. Waited to attack and slaughter their families left behind, and claim their land.”

 

“Thirty-nine hours ago, the Ali Al Salem Air Base in Kuwait was attacked. I...I...I did that. A quaint military church filled with wives and children, of course. The soldiers were out on maneuvers, the _braves were away_. President Ellis, you continue to resist my attempts to educate you, sir. And now, you've missed me again. You know who I am, you don't know where I am, and you'll _never_ see me coming.”

 

…

 

The next day they went to have lunch with Uncle Rhodey.

 

Peter didn’t think he was supposed to be there, but Ms. Goldrush’s mother was sick and despite being eleven, his father had qualms about ever leaving him unsupervised. So, he had been brought along, somewhat frustrated with his father for letting him fall asleep the night before. For not following through with their negotiation, that hadn’t been a negotiation. And his dad’s hands kept shaking and Peter wanted to ask why, but he couldn’t, and they were so quiet now. The two of them were so silent, so often.

 

The past few months had been filled with press meetings, Avengers stuff, interviews, and _more_ Avengers stuff. His father was always wide-eyed and almost crazed looking, but Peter rarely asked why anymore, because he knew why. He knew what New York had done. He knew why his father left some of the lights on in the house and why Jarvis’ security measures had been upgraded. Why his dad made Happy go on his field trips with him.

 

There were so many new ‘whys’. ‘Why’ things had to be the way they were.

 

But Peter found it odd. None of that would save him if another wormhole opened up, this time over Malibu.

 

He didn’t say that though, and that was where the silence had been born.

 

The restaurant smelled a lot like greasy food and Peter picked idly at his fries in front of him. The television was talking about his Uncle Rhodey again. His new suit was their favorite topic of conversation now, along with the scary man that was blowing things up. The Mandarin.

 

“It tested well with focus groups, alright?” Uncle Rhodey sounded exasperated.

 

Peter’s father lowered his voice gruffly, mocking, “I am Iron Patriot…It sucks.”

 

Peter choked down a laugh and shoved a fry into his mouth.

 

“Listen,” Uncle Rhodey leaned forward, “War Machine was a little too aggressive, alright? This sends a better message.”

 

Peter didn’t really understand that. It was kind of hard to wrap his mind around the concept, because those suits were _aggressive_. Ready for battle. High powered technology and Peter felt like the Iron Patriot paint job was a bit of lean towards Captain America. Cap wasn’t scary by any means, at least in Peter’s opinion, but there was a wide precipice between metal and flesh.

 

His dad’s head turned slightly, and Peter could tell there was something sinking in. Maybe a curiosity, but he was in no way happy Peter was there to hear it. They were inside. His sunglasses were still on and Peter wondered why but didn’t question it. Just continued to eat and pretend to not listen, because when he did that, his father talked more about the ‘adult’ things. The real-world things. The things he didn’t want Peter to know about.

 

“So, what's really going on? With the Mandarin.”

 

Uncle Rhodey took a sip of his drink and Peter watched as his father finally pulled his sunglasses off, face frowning and confused. Deliberately, maybe. Maybe not. His dad was good at facades and he wouldn’t be outwardly worried with Peter there for no reason.

 

“Seriously, can we talk about this guy?”

 

His dad leaned in when Uncle Rhodey spoke softly, “It’s classified information, Tony. There’ve been nine bombings – “

 

There was a sharp, “Nine?”

 

“ – the public only knows about three,” Uncle Rhodey continued, “Here's the thing, nobody can ID a device. There's no bomb casings.”

 

“You know I can help, just ask. I got a ton of new tech, I got a prehensile, I got a...I got a new bomb disposal. Catches explosions mid-air.”

 

Peter spoke without really thinking, voice coming out like a knife in his own ears, hoarse. Almost the same roughness as that day in New York after he had screamed his throat raw for his father before he was _falling, falling, falling_ …

 

“Dad.”

 

His father looked at him, surprised. Peter had been in the silence up until that point, eaten by it. Between them. Uncle Rhodey looked less than surprised as Peter picked at his fries again before mumbling, “You’ve…got a lot of projects right now.”

 

There was a nonchalance in the man’s reply of, “Well it’d be only a few more.”

 

“It’s never just a few more,” Peter argued, “You haven’t slept in _forever_.”

 

Uncle Rhodey chimed in, “When’s the last time you slept?”

 

“Einstein only slept three hours a year,” His dad huffed, holding out his hands, “Look what he did.”

 

Peter looked at Uncle Rhodey, eyes pleading silently. He didn’t know what else to do. What else to say. His father didn’t listen to him and he didn’t listen to Pepper and Peter just…he wanted his dad’s hands to stop shaking so much. He wanted the dark circles to go away and he wanted it all to be okay again. The way it was before. After his father had gotten better and before the aliens and the gods falling out of the sky and the super soldier being melted. The green monster. Not that Peter disliked Thor, Cap, or Doctor Banner. They were amazing, each in very specific ways, but Peter missed his father.

 

He missed him so much, and he was _right there_.

 

Uncle Rhodey caught Peter’s gaze before turning his attention back to Peter’s father and saying, “I’m concerned about you, Tony.”

 

“You’re gonna come at me like that?”

 

“No, look I’m not trying to be a dick – “

 

Peter was watching the argument with a frown until two figures appeared to his right. He flinched slightly when both his father and uncle noticed them. Peter blinked several times. The boy looked a bit younger than him and the girl was probably around the same age. She was smiling at Peter’s father and Peter swallowed thickly, blinking. There was a glimmer there, that people got when they saw his hero father. His father _was_ a hero. Peter had no doubt in his mind, but there was something under the surface that Peter couldn’t understand. Something that was eating his dad up.

 

The girl was apparently named Erin and she wanted Peter’s father to sign her drawing.

 

Peter watched silently as his dad used the crayon to sign the page. But his uncle continued talking. Talking about that empty silent space or the pentagon and New York and aliens. The empty silent space where Peter would plummet, and he imagined his father imploded there. If Peter fell, his father disintegrated, simple as that.

 

Then the crayon cracked.

 

Peter’s eyes widened.

 

His father placed a hand over his face, paling considerably. Uncle Rhodey looked concerned and Peter didn’t understand why his father was gasping. Like a fish out of water. Trying to draw air in, but unable to.

 

He heard the boy whisper to Peter’s father, “How did you get out of the wormhole?”

 

And Peter had the urge to push the boy down.

 

No one should ask about the wormhole.

 

Because Peter didn’t. No one else could.

 

His dad practically jumped from the seat and Peter cringed when his arm was grabbed and he was yanked upward, his elbows hitting the basket of fries and scattering to the floor while he was drug from the restaurant. Peter blinked rapidly, trying to get his mind to catch up while they made their way to the car, and once his father grabbed the door handle and struggled to open it, Peter started trying to pry the man’s fingers from his arm.

 

“Dad, Dad, listen to me,” Peter pleaded, eyes pricking with tears, but he wasn’t going to let them fall. Not there with people watching them and he felt like his arm was bruising. His father had never been rough, was _never_ , _ever_ rough with him. But something like light left his dad’s eyes and he was still trying to open the car door, “Dad listen! It’s locked, you’ve gotta…You’ve gotta _unlock_ it. Gimme the keys.”

 

Peter didn’t really know what was going on, and his heart was racing. His father fished into his pocket, pulling the keys out, but instead of giving them to Peter, he pressed the unlock button several times. His hands were shaking again, more this time, and Peter tried again to make his dad let go of him.

 

“Tony!” Peter heard Uncle Rhodey call and he was incredibly grateful when he appeared beside them, stopping his father from shoving him into the car. His father’s brown eyes were almost empty…like glass had been placed over them and Peter was staring into marble.

 

Uncle Rhodey tried to pull his dad’s hand off of Peter’s arm, but he had latched on, like a lifeline and Peter listened as Uncle Rhodey whispered quietly, “Tones, I think you’re having a panic attack or something –“

 

“Sorry, gotta go,” Peter heard his father say abruptly, and the door was pulled open and Peter was pushed inside, the door slamming shut behind him.

 

The empty silent space overwhelmed both of them. Peter stared at his father’s face for most of the ride home, but his father _never_ looked over at him.

 

His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel.

 

At least they weren’t shaking.

 

…

 

Someone delivered a giant rabbit in the driveway and Peter thought it looked a lot like Remy.

 

Peter sat in the living room while his father signed the delivery papers before coming back inside. The boy’s arm ached slightly, but he didn’t say anything about it, because he knew it was just something that would make his dad feel sorry. He watched as his father moved about the house, through the kitchen, drinking another cup of espresso, and pacing. Peter wanted to talk to him, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know where to start.

 

His father moved towards the stairs before turning to look at him, ordering, “Come to the shop with me.”

 

Peter jumped up, eagerly following the man. He trotted down the stairs, trying to pretend what happened earlier didn’t happen, even though it did. Peter liked his invitations to the shop too much to lace it with his own anxieties and his dad typed in the code, letting him enter. Peter looked at the walls lined with suits and he knew there were more elsewhere, he just didn’t know where exactly. He hoped one day, one of them would be his. One day he’d be an Iron Man.

 

His father steered him towards one of the workbenches and sat Peter down on the stool. He then pulled several objects towards Peter, ordering softly, “See these hard drives? Figure out which ones aren’t fried and when you’ve done that, reroute the information so it can be accessed collectively. It’s an exercise. Ready, set, go.”

 

Peter’s fingers began to move, and he smiled a bit. More than likely, this was an apology. But Peter sometimes preferred these apologies over the verbal ones, because these meant he got to learn. His fathered ruffled his hair lightly and moved away, going to sit across the room. Eventually, he heard his dad speaking to Happy on the phone and Peter wanted to burst out laughing when he heard his dad say ‘forehead of security’.

 

Apparently, Pepper was meeting with someone named ‘Aldrich Killian’. Happy remembered him from forever ago in Switzerland. 1999 _forever_ ago. But Peter’s father didn’t seem to have the slightest memory of who he was.

 

“Flip the screen, then I can see what they’re doing,” His father ordered.

 

_“I can't! I don't know how to flip the screen!”_

Peter noticed a few minutes later, while his dad was still speaking to Happy, he was looking up pictures of some man. Probably the man they were talking about and Peter found it all kind of funny, but also a bit worrying. Because if Pepper liked someone else…

 

“Is Pepper gonna date someone else?” Peter asked without thinking.

 

His dad looked at him and apparently Happy heard him because the man’s voice replied, _“She will if your dad doesn’t start paying her more attention. This Killian guy is showing her his big brain.”_

 

“Don’t say that,” Tony huffed, “Gonna give my kid a complex, Hap. He’ll never trust women.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes and his father continued, “I miss you, Happy.”

 

_“Yeah, I miss you too. But the way it used to be. Now you're off with the 'superfriends', I don't know what's going on with you anymore. The world's getting weird...”_

 

Peter agreed. Not just the world though. Their family was weird now too.

 

His dad hummed, “Hey, I...I'd hate to cut you off. Do you have your taser on you?”

 

_“Why?”_

“I think there's a gal in HR who's trying to steal some printer ink, you should probably go over there and zap her.”

 

_“Yeah, nice.”_

_…_

When Pepper pulled into the drive that afternoon, Peter ran to greet her.

 

She hadn’t seemed as excited about her gifted rabbit as he was, but she smiled and hugged him nonetheless before following him inside.

 

…

 

Peter was listening in again.

 

His father had never sounded so… _unsure_ of himself.

 

“You experience things and then they're over and you still can't explain them. Gods, aliens, other dimensions. I...I'm just a man in a can. The only reason I haven't cracked up is probably because you moved in. Which is great. I love you, I'm lucky. But, honey…I can't sleep. You go to bed, I tuck Pete in, I come down here. I do what I know, I tinker.”

 

“But threat is imminent, and I have to protect the two things that I can't live without. That's you and Peter.”

 

And Peter…He just felt sorry.

 

…

 

That night Pepper’s screaming woke him up.

 

It had been a night he had actually slept in his own bed, not outside his dad’s door. But then there was yelling, screaming, and Peter ran in. Just in time to watch his father dismantle the suit with just a simple swipe of his arms.

 

Peter had almost cried when Pepper insisted the two of them sleep downstairs.

 

…

 

It was odd circumstances.

 

It was early the next day, barely the next day, the sun hadn’t yet risen when his father pulled him out of sleep and told him to get dressed. There was a steel undertone, a hardness Peter didn’t like, but it was swallowing up his dad and had been since New York, but this was worse. Like something terrible, awful, and worse had happened than the Iron Man suit attacking Pepper the night before.

 

And it had been worse.

 

Happy was hurt.

 

Peter didn’t know a lot of the details. He was barely awake when they entered the hospital, his father holding his hand tightly and the sun still not up. He used his fist to rub his eyes, doing his best to fight the sleep away, but the moment they entered the hospital room where Happy was lying motionless with a tube down his throat, Peter was suddenly more aware than he had been in his entire life. Like someone had used window cleaner in his mind. This time, _Peter’s_ hands shook, and he looked at his father, but his father was speaking to people in white coats and he didn’t understand the words they were using.

 

“The explosion did severe damage.”

 

That was what Peter understood.

 

An explosion.

 

Peter’s father wouldn’t let go of his hand, so he couldn’t get away from the doctors that his dad was distracted by. His hand was too tight on Peter’s, gripping, like he had done at the restaurant. Then the police officers came, told Peter’s father that they believed it had something to do with the ‘Mandarin’. The scary man on the television. The one that was hurting people, blowing them up, and Peter’s eyes burned because why would anyone want to hurt Happy? Sure, he was grumpy, but…but…

 

It didn’t make any sense. And finally, when Peter and his father were alone with the slumbering Happy, Peter looked up at his father. His eyes stung, but again he didn’t cry. He didn’t want to. It had been hard enough, the night before. Things just seemed really difficult. He bit down on his lower lip and instead glanced at the television that was playing Happy’s favorite show _‘Downton Abbey’._

He and his father took the chairs that were tucked almost behind the machines monitoring Happy. Peter wished his feet touched the ground; he felt so short sometimes and so small. He was smaller, there, in that room. He was smaller when the world was trying to eat him. That hospital was certainly trying to eat him, and his mind was not holding it in a palm.

 

His father was staring, but not saying anything. Until finally, like some kind of revelation had hit, his dad reassured, “He’s gonna be alright, kiddo.”

 

“He doesn’t look alright,” Peter whispered, eyes still trained on Happy’s form.

 

Happy was always so strong and right then he was not.

 

He had been so strong that day in New York…How could he be like this, now? From one lousy man? Aliens hadn’t even hurt him, or had barely done so. A vortex belittled Peter. Belittled him into a hole. Peter was not _this and that and this and that_ , he was ripped apart and spat back out. The universe did that to him, constantly, and Peter was starting to think that was what happened to the children of superheroes. This was his doom. He didn’t even have a suit to protect them with, because it wasn’t allowed. He wasn’t allowed to fight.

 

Peter felt so afraid. He didn’t even know who he was afraid of. The aliens? The Mandarin? Fate? God? The monster under his bed had ceased long ago, with the man that had an octopus tattooed on his neck. Those things were dead, but these things were alive and well.

 

Peter didn’t realize he was crying until his father reached for him over _the empty silent space_ and used his thumb to swipe across Peter’s cheek.

 

“Look at me.”

 

Peter did.

 

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

 

Peter’s lip trembled, “Who’s going to stop them from hurting _you_?”

 

That familiar look of loss crossed his father’s face.

 

Eventually a nurse came in, and started checking several of the machines that surrounded Happy. She didn’t seem to notice either his father or Peter in their corner until Peter’s father greeted her with a soft, “Hi.”

 

She looked like she wanted to talk, but Peter’s father was already shuffling him out as he spoke to the nurse, “Make sure everyone wears their badges. He's a stickler for that sort of thing, plus my guys won't let anyone in without them.”

 

Peter slipped away, slipping close to Happy’s bedside. The man’s eyes were shut, one covered with a bandage. Peter took Happy’s hand gently into his own and leaned forward, as close as he could before he whispered softly…

 

“You gotta wake up soon…Or someone might forget their badge, and no one will notice.”

 

Peter’s eyes watered, and he blinked the tears away as he croaked, “And I’ll miss you like Dad misses you.”

 

His father’s hand replaced the one that was holding Happy’s and he gently tugged Peter away, his eyes rimmed with red, just like Peter’s.

 

…

 

The sea of reporters was a blur.

 

“My name is Tony Stark and I'm not afraid of you. I know you're a coward…

 

“So, I've decided that you just died, pal. I'm gonna come get the body. There's no politics here; it's just good old-fashioned revenge. There's no Pentagon; it's just you and me. And on the off-chance you're a man, here's my home address: 10880, Malibu Port, 90265.”

 

…

 

“Pepper…I-I don’t wanna leave.”

 

Peter’s voice came out small as the woman hurriedly folded his clothes and put them into a bag. It was as if the air had been sucked out of the house and his father was refusing to come out of the shop. Like he had shut down. Brought himself into some kind of hole and Peter and Pepper weren’t welcome there. Pepper’s face was still red with anger at what Peter’s dad had done at the hospital. At throwing his address out to the world for them to know. Peter could hear the news helicopters outside, hovering about the property, but Peter just…He didn’t want to go out there.

 

She placed another one of his t-shirts into the bag and sighed, dipping her head a bit, “I’m sorry. Really, sweetie, I’m sorry. But this…even if your father refuses to leave, I just don’t think it’s safe for us here. Do you see how it’s not safe? When someone gives out their address – “

 

“But Dad said he’s not going,” Peter interrupted, “And if he doesn’t go, I don’t wanna leave him.”

 

Pepper shook her head, “I can’t leave you here with the thought something could happen, I just can’t do that. And if your father refuses to go then…”

 

She trailed of, then shut her eyes and waved her hands madly, “He’s not gonna refuse, alright? I’m going to convince him to come with us and we’ll find a place to go until all of this is taken care of just…try not to worry too much, okay? I know that’s hard, especially right now but…just try.”

 

It _was_ hard. Extremely so, especially when Pepper was freaking out. Because when Pepper freaked out, Peter freaked out. It was contagious or something with her and Peter looked around his bedroom, before moving to where his pillow was and pulling Remy out from the hiding spot and stuffing him to the bottom of his bag that Pepper was still packing for him. It was all moving so quickly, and he vaguely heard the doorbell ring and Pepper muttered quietly about ‘more reporters’ or something.

 

Peter watched her move mechanically, almost like one of his dad’s suits while she finished packing their things and gestured for him to follow while she carried two of the bags and Peter carried one. As they moved out into the hallway towards the balcony, Peter could vaguely hear voices downstairs, one obviously belonging to his father. The closer they got, Peter could hear his father say, “Normally, I’d go for that sort of thing, but now I’m in a committed relationship…”

 

Pepper dropped their bags over the balcony and they made a satisfying thump below.

 

“…It’s with her,” Peter’s father finished.

 

Pepper called, “Tony is somebody there?”

 

Peter started bounding down the stairs just as his father was exiting his suit. Peter’s brows furrowed as he processed the woman standing in their entryway, looking up at him as he descended the stairs onto the main level, Pepper following close behind.

 

“Yeah, it’s Maya Hansen. Old botanist pal I used to know, barely.”

 

Peter’s father whispered something quietly to the woman named Maya before she said, “And no, I need your help.”

 

The boy squeezed around the giant rabbit that had been moved into their living area and Pepper had to do the same thing for them to further enter the living room with the other two. Peter watched curiously as his father asked, “What for? Why now?”

 

“Because I read the papers, and frankly, I don’t think you’ll last the week.”

 

Peter glared silently as Pepper’s heels clicked behind him and she placed both hands on his shoulders, moving past him to approach Peter’s father as he insisted, “I’ll be fine.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Pepper was smiling but Peter felt like it seemed more stressed out than anything, and there was very little genuine pleasure behind it, “With Happy in the hospital, I didn’t know we were expecting guests…And old girlfriends!”

 

Peter’s eyebrows shot up and an awkward feeling erupted.

 

“It was just one night,” Maya Hansen insisted.

 

Peter blinked several times, deeply confused. One night? That wasn’t much of a girlfriend, he didn’t think. That wasn’t even a friend. The conversation shifted again though so quickly Peter could barely catch up as Pepper turned fully to face Peter’s father and she said, “We’re going out of town.”

 

“Okay, we’ve been through this. Nope.”

 

“Yep!” Pepper replied.

 

“The man says no,” Peter’s father waved his hand.

 

Pepper raised her voice louder, “Immediately and indefinitely!”

 

Maya Hansen moved towards their bags and Peter felt his palms start to sweat as the argument raised louder between the adults. He wanted to tell his father to stop. To stop arguing with Pepper. Because he wanted to go, he wanted to get away, he wanted them to be safe and they weren’t safe there…In the house. But he couldn’t find a voice amongst the yelling and Maya Hansen agreed with Pepper, “Great idea, let’s go! I’ll – “

 

“I’m sorry, that’s a terrible idea, please don’t touch her bags,” Peter’s father argued.

 

Pepper sighed, “Tony, this is how normal people behave.”

 

Peter flinched when his father shouted, “I can’t protect you and Peter out there! I threatened – “

 

Maya pointed at the rabbit, “Is…is that normal?”

 

“Yes, that’s normal! It’s a giant bunny, relax about it!”

 

“Calm down!” Pepper snapped.

 

The tangent about the rabbit carried on and Peter just wanted to disappear, which he almost had. Invisible in a room of adults, and that was better sometimes, but Peter really just wanted to speak. Finally, after the shouting over the bunny had dulled to a drag, Peter whispered, “Dad.”

 

His father didn’t hear him, continuing to argue and Peter said louder, “Dad!”

 

The man’s head whipped in his direction, eyes wide as if seeing him for the first time. Peter swallowed thickly, throat dry as he practically begged, “Please…can we just go? I wanna go.”

 

He saw his father’s eyes soften. As if all the frustration and manic rise had fallen to a flat line. His father insisted, holding out a calming hand towards the child, “Peter…We’re safe, okay? We’re safe here. I’m going to make sure –“

 

“Guys,” Maya said, but his father ignored her.

 

“ – I’m going to make sure no one hurts us. We’re safer here than out there.”

 

“Guys!” She tried again, and the three others looked at her suddenly, eyes following where her finger was pointing at the television screen beside her. She continued to ask, “Do we need to worry about that?”

 

Peter didn’t process what was on the screen. Not really.

 

All he processed was the sound of shattering in his ears.

 

It was like a whoosh. Oxygen. Air, and sea breeze, but a hurricane and Peter felt his body jolt backward with the loudest explosion he had ever heard in his life. Louder than New York, swinging him and he was vaulted. Weightless, but heavy at the same time as things slammed into him, making him heavier. His eyes closed, and something else closed around him, like a cradle and a blanket and he didn’t have time to even open his eyes and process the world around him, explosive and booming.

 

The world was caving in and Peter was nothing inside of it.

 

But when Peter finally did hit concrete, it didn’t hurt. In fact, he bounced, wrapped still in that same encasing and when he opened his eyes, he saw pieces of his father’s suit entrapping him and other pieces entrapping Pepper as well. Maya Hansen was crumbled on the ground in a heap and Peter felt guilt pinch, but then disappear as his brain tried to catch up and he squirmed from his place on the floor, world twisting beneath him.

 

_Whaa….?_

His ears were ringing, stones dripping down like heavy raindrops. His father and Pepper were both stumbling to their feet, Pepper’s clanking with the metal and Peter felt like he was shaking too much under his portions to even consider moving. Then the second explosion hit and his father was thrown once more, slamming into the couch and Peter jolted against the wall a second time, this time the breath escaping his lungs.

 

His father stood from behind the couch and shouted, “Move! I’m right behind you!”

 

Peter thought…he was probably talking to Pepper. And nothing was listening, no limbs, no nothing. He couldn’t…he was so afraid. He had dreamed of helping his father, of being wrapped in the suit and flying but even in the armor, even there…Peter was so scared.

 

He wasn’t a hero.

 

He wanted to save his father, but he was too afraid.

 

The floor cracked, plummeted, and his father nearly fell, nose gushing blood. Peter shouted, jolting forward, but he stumbled and couldn’t get up completely. His father told Pepper in a shaky voice, “Get her and Peter. I’m gonna find another way around.”

 

Pepper paused. Frozen, just like Peter was until his father’s voice spoke in the tone he usually used when Peter was close to getting into trouble, “Stop _stopping_! Get them and get outside, go!”

 

Pepper moved towards Peter first, practically scraping him off the ground before they got to Maya and helped her. She was dazed, forehead gushing blood and Peter kept glancing at his father, who was still on the other side of the gap. They moved to the door, and Peter looked back one last time until Pepper shot suddenly behind them by mistake, throwing them through the front glass and out into the driveway…

 

Peter hit the ground hard, rolling onto his side and hissing in pain. Explosions continued to shake the house, and Peter watched as the front portion of the porch collapsed. Pepper moved to her knees, Peter left gasping on the ground as she screamed, “Tony!”

 

And then, the suit pieces started stripping off both of them, and Peter felt the rush of sea air on his skin once more, Pepper stumbling up to her feet as the mechanics were flown into the house. And Peter thought…his father was alive right then. Right then in that moment, his dad was alive because he had called the suit.

 

But like the end of the world, the end of everything Peter knew to be true…The house crumbled.

 

Peter didn’t scream. It wasn’t like New York, watching his father go into that wormhole. He couldn’t see his dad, plummeting into the sea. He couldn’t see it. So, he laid there, on the concrete, chest heaving and tears pouring, but _he didn’t scream_. He wished he had.

 

Time warped. Nothing was normal. Pepper pulled him close as they hid from the continuing gunfire until it ceased, and the helicopters flew off.

 

The ocean took his father away.

 

…

 

Peter’s lip was busted.

 

He sat on the back of a firetruck, while the officials worked on what was left of his house. The sun had set some time ago and Pepper was standing there, at the edge of the cliff, and he kept checking to see if she was there, because he needed her to be there. His chest felt like it had been carved out. It felt empty and silent and he couldn’t speak as the fireman cleaned his lip with something that stung a little bit and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders.

 

Peter wanted to go home, but home was nowhere.

 

He was alone again.

 

Peter stared off, into the night, half expecting to see his father appear over the waves and fly into the sky. Or fly to him. To come hold him and drown out the terror that had enveloped him hours ago. He was so afraid, afraid of everything, but it wouldn’t reach the exterior because that empty silent space was back. And he was alone in it.

 

But then Pepper ran over to him…

 

And she placed that helmet on his head with the message from his father.

 

“Pepper…Peter…it's me. I've got a lot of apologies to make and not a lot of time. So first off, I'm so sorry I put you two in harm's way. That was selfish and stupid, and it won't happen again. Also, it's Christmas time, the rabbit's too big. Done. Sorry. And I'm sorry in advance because...I can't come home yet. I need to find this guy. You two gotta stay safe. That's all I know. I just stole a poncho from a wooden Indian.”

 

Peter had never loved and hated his father more in his life.

 

…

 

Maya Hansen was in the car with them.

 

It was certainly odd, all of it. How they had ended up there. Peter didn’t even feel like the day had happened at all. Most of it was a blur and his eyes felt heavy, from crying and lack of sleep. The world had crashed down, then been glued back together with that one message from his father. The thankfulness hadn’t worn off yet, but when it did, he’d definitely fall asleep for a good twenty-four hours.

 

Especially when his father got back.

 

Pepper asked Maya softly from the front seat, “What were you doing at the house tonight? What was so important that you needed to talk to Tony?”

 

Maya replied, “I think that my boss is working for the Mandarin. So, if you still wanna talk about it, I suggest we get ourselves somewhere safe.”

 

She glanced back briefly at Peter. Her eyes held something he couldn’t read. Like a silent apology of sorts, something he had seen from his dad sometimes, especially after the panic attacks or when he had done something stupid. The look he had gotten when he had expressed he was afraid and wanted to leave the house in the first place and his dad had insisted...had _insisted_ they stay.

 

“Your boss works for the Mandarin?” Pepper questioned her face pulling up, and Peter knew it bothered him…the Mandarin had hurt Happy…Maybe not directly, but he had played a part and Peter’s stomach churned at the thought of him as Pepper continued, “But Tony says you’re a botanist…”

 

“That figures. What I actually am is a biological DNA coder running a team of forty out of a privately-funded think tank, but sure you can call me a botanist.”

 

There was a brief pause of silence. Peter tried to connect all that, but it was hard. Pepper asked, “So does this boss have a name?”

 

“Aldrich Killian,” Maya provided simply, and Pepper looked at her shocked.

 

Peter leaned forward in the seat, “The one who showed Pepper his big brain?”

 

Pepper glanced back, “How do you…? Nevermind…Christ, Killian…”

 

It was all quiet. Peter had so many questions about the Aldrich Killian guy. So many questions as to why he would want to hurt his father. All the whys were spinning and then Peter was spinning before he finally laid his head against the window and shut his eyes, dozing off just a few minutes before they arrived at their hotel for the night. They had nothing, no change of clothes or anything, but Peter laid down, his head sinking into the pillows while Pepper and Maya sat on the bed beside his, speaking quietly. He listened…and the story almost sounded like a lullaby of sorts, fascinating, or out of a story book. Sad, but a lot of those old stories were.

 

“Before he built rockets for the Nazis, the idealistic Wernher von Braun dreamed of space travel. He _stargazed_ ,” She chuckled softly, and Peter could imagine her smiling, but it didn’t sound genuine, “Do you know what he said when the first V-2 hit London? ‘The rocket performed perfectly, it just landed on the wrong planet’. See, we all begin wide-eyed. Pure science. And then the ego steps in. The obsession. And you look up…”

 

She paused, “…you’re a long way from shore.”

 

Peter’s eyes opened a bit and he lifted his head to look at her. Her eyes were shining, glistening, and Peter didn’t understand. But then again, maybe he did. Sometimes he felt so far from shore…but in a different way. In a taxing…horrible way.

 

Peter wondered if it was the same for everybody.

 

“You can’t be too hard on yourself, Maya,” Pepper argued…And Pepper always had a way of making Peter feel better, and he hoped Maya felt the same, “I mean, you gave your research to a think tank.”

 

Maya breathed, “Yeah, but Killian built that think tank on military contracts.”

 

Pepper nodded, “That’s exactly what we used to do. So, don’t judge yourself.”

 

That bleak legacy hit Peter suddenly. His fingers tightened on the comforter below his hands. He whispered softly, “I think you’ve got time to go back and ‘stargaze’. My dad still does.”

 

There was a light knocked at the door and Pepper stood to go answer. Peter sat up slowly on the bed, smiling at Maya as he did so and she smiled back, saying, “Thank you, Peter. I really appreciate that.”

 

Peter opened his mouth to say something else, but there was a shout from around the corner of the suit and Peter heard Pepper scream, “Run!”

 

The boy jumped up almost immediately, as well as Maya, but when Peter looked at her, her face appeared less than startled. A cold, dropping sensation settled in his stomach and Peter moved towards Pepper’s shouting, rounding the corner immediately to see a man in a grey suit, holding Pepper by her throat. Peter launched himself forward almost immediately, trying to get to her, but Maya’s arms wrapped around him, yanking him back and keeping him in place.

 

The man barely gave Peter a second glance as he looked over his head to focus on Maya who was struggling to control the boy, “Wanna tell me why you were at Stark’s mansion?”

 

“I’m trying to fix this thing,” Maya snapped, “I didn’t know you and the master were going to blow the place up.”

 

Peter squirmed, burning as his chest constricted with panic. He looked up at the stranger, tears pricking his eyes and Peter’s gaze moved to Pepper who continued to struggle in his hold. The man nodded in response to Maya’s statement, “Oh I see. You were trying to save Stark when he threatened us.”

 

“I told you Killian, we can use him,” Maya insisted.

 

Peter felt like vomiting.

 

_This_ was Killian.

 

He stared with wide eyes as Pepper pressed again Killian’s face with her hand and he muttered in irritation, “Pepper, Pepper, Pepper.”

 

Maya went on, “Look, if we’re going to launch the product next year, I need Stark. He just lacked a decent incentive, and now he has _two_.”

 

Killian looked closely at Pepper, before his eyes shifted down to Peter. He ceased moving in Maya’s hold, lip trembling and his chest rising and falling rapidly. Killian nodded, as another man entered the hotel room, stepping over the crumbled body of the hotel employee on the way. He muttered quietly in Killian’s ear, “We’ve got the cars ready for transport.”

 

“Right,” Killian said, “Savin, take Miss Potts for me.”

 

As Pepper was drug out of the room, Peter shouted after her, yanking at Maya’s arm, “No!”

 

He wrenched through her hold, but Killian’s hands grabbed him almost immediately as Pepper disappeared and the man’s hands held too tightly to Peter’s arms. Peter was pulled close as Killian kneeled in front of him, eyes hard while he stared at Peter closely, as if dissecting him. Peter stopped his movements, the hold bruising and only tightening with every movement. Killian whispered, his voice lacking the same menace as before, but the underlying threat was there, “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Aldrich Killian, a friend of your father and Pepper.”

 

Peter shook his head, but he couldn’t form any words. He just blinked back tears as Killian continued, “Shhh, you don’t gotta cry, Peter. You know why? ‘Cause you’ll see your dad real soon. And if you behave, no one has to get hurt, you got that? You’ve just got to be good.”

 

The boy flinched when Killian patted the side of his face and stood back to full height, dragging him from the hotel room by his arm.

 

He didn’t scream.

 

…

 

The rest of the night, Peter was in the back of a van.

 

Pepper, Peter could only guess, was in the vehicle in front of them. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking though, and Maya, who was in the seat in front of him, occasionally glanced back at him. The same sorry eyes, over and over again and Peter just wanted to cry and scream and go home, to the nothing house. The empty silent space.

 

The man named Savin frightened him most of all. His eyes were cold, and Peter wanted out of the car. It took everything in him not to start screaming and shouting as they drove hour after hour into the night, endless and nonstop. Threatening to boil over at any moment and finally tears fell and Peter was just so tired, but he couldn’t sleep there, not with the monsters watching.

 

Maya looked back again, and she snapped to Savin, “What did you do?”

 

“Nothing,” Savin growled, “He just started that, I didn’t do shit.”

 

Peter covered his mouth, so he wouldn’t make noise. If he made noise they’d probably be angrier, but Maya seemed angrier at Savin than Peter. Maya reached over the seat and Peter flinched away from her as she reassured, “Peter…Trust me, your father will do as Killian asks and you’ll get to be with him. It’s going to be fine, your dad is going to cooperate for you.”

 

Peter whispered shakily, “I don’t _want_ him to.”

 

Maya’s hand withdrew.

 

That had obviously not been what she was expecting.

 

…

 

When Peter woke up in the morning, he didn’t know where he was.

 

They had arrived to a large gated house, and they were pulling down the driveway, the sun rising up as they did so. He took in the plants, the green, and he knew it had to be somewhere warm because the December chill hadn’t killed all of the greenery. Everyone started climbing out, and Savin yanked him by his shirt before grabbing his wrist and bringing him towards the large house where he was handed off to several other men.

 

He was put into a small bedroom and the door was locked.

 

…

 

Hours passed, until anyone came.

 

And when they finally did, it was Killian, much to Peter’s terror.

 

Peter stood when the man entered, and he moved to the corner of the room to stand as far away from him as he could get. Killian went and sat on one of the chairs, crossing his legs nonchalantly, as if they were just a few people having a friendly chat, not as if Peter had just been kidnapped from his family. Seconds ticked by until Killian eventually sighed, “You’re a bit of an antsy one, aren’t you?”

 

Peter said nothing.

 

“I’m going to assume you’re a smart child, I mean you come from Tony Stark and your biological mother was a geneticist,” Killian hummed, “I can only imagine the things that your father has planned for you. I mean, the Starks just get more and more creative as time goes on and you’ll be a third-generation creator. Your father may be a futurist, but you Peter? You’re the future.”

 

That was empty. A lot of _empty_.

 

Peter had never thought of that.

 

“That being said,” Killian continued, “I imagine your father will do whatever he can to get you back.”

 

He would. Peter knew he would.

 

“But you don’t have to worry. We need your father alive. So, when he comes for you, we’ll be ready.”

 

Then the man stood, was handed a brown paper bag from the man guarding the door and Killian set it on the table before leaving the room. When Peter opened it, he found a burger and fries, and a children’s toy.

 

An Iron Man toy.

 

…

 

The next day came so suddenly, Peter wasn’t sure if he had even slept.

 

No one had particularly mistreated him in the house. The guards rushed his bathroom breaks, but other than that, they said very little to him. He spent most of the time sitting in the tiny room, holding the Iron Man toy between his fingers. He expected the next day to be the same, at least, but it wasn’t because around midday, Savin appeared at the door, glaring down impatiently at Peter who looked up from his place on the floor.

 

“Get up,” Savin ordered.

 

Peter scrambled to his feet, setting his Iron Man toy aside as Savin took his wrist and brought him out of the room. They moved through the house quickly and people looked slightly concerned about something, but Peter couldn’t pinpoint what that something was as he was handed off from Savin to another man, and then handed off again…

 

The last time he was handed off…it was to Killian.

 

The man pinched his cheek and asked, “Ready to see your father?”

 

Peter’s heart sank.

 

No…he wasn’t. Because if his father was there…with him…

 

_No. No. No._

It was the worst march of his life, down those halls until they emerged into a larger room on a balcony. Before even making his way down the stairs, Peter could see his father there, talking to Maya, deep in some conversation that Peter couldn’t hear. His father was zip tied, stuck to what appeared to be a bedframe and Killian was holding his arm too tightly as they began to make their way down the stairs onto the ground floor of the concrete dungeon.

 

Killian’s voice echoed off the walls, “You know what my old man used to say to me?”

 

Peter’s father looked in their direction for the first time, and for the _first time_ in days, since Peter had thought the ocean had taken his father, he saw the man’s eyes. But instead of what Peter wished to see, all he saw in them was a sudden flash of panic as Peter was brought into the room. Killian set his stuff on the study table and Peter’s father said nothing as Peter was guided to sit on the stool and Killian stood beside him. Peter’s eyes watered, and he blinked back tears desperately, unable to say anything, but he was so afraid if he spoke his father would be hurt somehow.

 

“One of his favorite of many sayings,” Killian continued, “The early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese.”

 

Peter glanced at Maya who stood in the corner, her arms crossed over her chest. He then looked at his dad again, eyes pleading. Pleading for a way out. Pleading for something that his dad couldn’t give him because they were there, in that room…They were stuck.

 

Finally, his father hissed quietly, eyes moving to Killian…

 

“Son of a bitch.”

 

“Ah, a nerve, and I barely had to say anything,” Killian smiled as he approached Peter’s father and Peter held onto the sides of the stool, “I just thought I’d return the favor, Tony. I mean, you gave me my greatest gift: desperation. And I bet that’s what you’re feeling right about now, seeing your kid so close, but _so_ out of reach.”

 

He paused, then continued, “That’s sorta how I felt on the rooftop, you know the night you said you’d meet me up there. For the first twenty minutes, I actually thought you’d show up. But then for the next hour, I considered taking that one-step short cut to the lobby. If you know what I mean.”

 

Peter heard his father’s voice come out, slightly strained as he glanced back at Peter’s silent form, “Honestly, I’m still trying to figure out what happened to that first mouse.”

 

Killian chuckled, turning back and striding over to Peter. He opened the case he had set on the table, pulling out what looked to be marbles before he rolled them across the floor and a hologram of sorts emerged from them. Peter’s eyes widened, seeing the image of Pepper there…Her skin glowing in a red hue and Peter saw the same anger he had seen when Peter had been marched into the room flash across his dad’s face again.

 

“I don’t know if you can tell,” Killian explained, “But at this point, the body is trying to decide whether to accept EXTREMIS or just give up.”

 

Pepper’s face was contorted into pain, silent screams escaping her, and Peter looked away, the tears finally slipping as he bit the inside of his cheek to silence himself. He wanted to hurt Killian. And he didn’t remember the last time, if ever, he had wanted to hurt someone, but in that moment, he knew he did.

 

“And if it gives up,” Peter’s father flinched, “I have to say, the detonation is quite spectacular. But until that point, it’s really just a lot of pain.”

 

The feed clicked off and Peter felt Killian’s hand card through his hair. Peter cringed, looking at his dad, trying to get the tears to stop because he just wanted to not be scared, but even his dad looked afraid. Frightened and angry and Peter had never seen his face so full of rage, not since the dream-memories. Killian continued to pat his head as he spoke, “Maybe if you refuse, the kid could figure it out. Then again, even if Pepper dies, we’ll still have sweet Peter as incentive, right?”

 

His father yanked at his wrists and Peter wanted to tell him to stop. To not move. To not say anything, because Killian might hurt him, and Peter just didn’t want his father to be hurt, not right in front of him. His father’s hands turned into fists and he growled like a feral animal, “Get your hands off my kid.”

 

To Peter’s surprise, Killian complied. But only to step forward and grab his dad by the throat, saying, “We haven’t even talked salary yet.”

 

Peter cried out when his dad choked loudly and Killian hissed, “What kind of perk package were you thinking of?”

 

“Stop!” Peter screamed, “Stop! Let go of him!”

 

Peter jumped from the stool but the moment he was in Killian’s arm reach, Killian whirled and grabbed him tightly by his hair and yanked it back, causing Peter to comply with the movement. Killian raised a hand, smacking Peter hard across the cheek and the child fell sharply onto the concrete, his head spinning and lifting, like a heavy loud. Peter placed a hand on his stinging face, shutting his eyes as he heard his dad struggle against the bed frame and shout, “Bastard!”

 

Maya’s voice broke the chaos though when she shouted, “Let him go!”

 

Everyone looked towards her and Killian startled, “Maya – “

 

“I said let him go!”

 

Peter blinked, confused, as she pointed something towards her neck and Killian questioned, “What are you doing?”

 

“1200 ccs. A dose half this size and I’m dead,” She whispered, “If I die Killian, what happens to your soldiers? What happens to your product? What happens to you? What happens if _you_ go too hot?” 

 

There was silence. Killian looked back at both Peter and his father.

 

And he fired.

 

Peter flinched when the gunshot rang through the small concrete room, the wall resounding it as Maya’s body fell to the floor, her eyes wide. Like she was finally stargazing, but Peter knew well enough that wasn’t the case. He couldn’t breathe as Killian turned on him, yanking Peter to his feet and forcing him to stand in front of his father and Peter craned his neck to stare up at him, lower lip trembling as he listened to Maya gasp, _and gasp_ and then stop.

 

“Good news: a high-level position has just been vacated,” Killian hissed, “Now, I’d like you to tell your boy how much you love him before I leave you to contemplate your promotion. And tell him that you’re going to do _whatever_ Mister Killian asks, because you _know_ that’s the only way to keep Petey-Pie safe.”

 

Peter swallowed past the lump in his throat, more tears falling. Tracking. His father finally looked at him and a few moments ticked by before his father finally said anything, his tone soft towards Peter, “I love you. And I’m going to do everything in my power to keep you safe. You understand me?”

 

He croaked weakly, “Yes sir.”

 

“So sweet,” Killian poked out his lower lip, ruffling Peter’s hair, “Well, I hate to drop and go, but I’ve really got a business to run, you know? It’s so exhausting.”

 

Peter was yanked backward, a sob wracking his body that he could no longer hold in as he was pulled away from his father. Peter tugged against Killian’s hold and he called, “I’m gonna be brave like you, Dad, okay? I’ll be brave.”

 

Then he was jerked around and pulled from the room completely.

 

…

 

They barely made it down the hallway before Peter saw the Iron Patriot strung up.

 

It was even less time before he realized his Uncle Rhodey was _inside_ the Iron Patriot.

 

As Killian hated up the suit with his _hands_ to get Uncle Rhodey out while Savin held tightly to Peter’s shoulder, his fingers digging in too deeply, but it was a distraction from how his face was still stinging. Killian looked around Uncle Rhodey’s form and said, “I’m gonna take the Chinook to base camp. And I want Peter and Potts with me.”

 

Savin replied, “She’s still in phase two.”

 

Killian came back irritably, “You’re not going deaf, are you?”

 

When his Uncle Rhodey was forced out, _when he fought back,_ Peter had a sliver of hope. But it extinguished, when, like everyone else, Killian hurt him.

 

The moment Aldrich was standing over Uncle Rhodey’s form and Peter was pulled away from Savin, Peter hissed quietly, “My dad is going to stop you.”

 

Killian only smirked, “We’ll see.”

 

…

 

Everything was missing.

 

Peter didn’t know why his brain wasn’t working, but it definitely wasn’t. Almost as if a large gap existed and he was all alone. All empty with nothing and no one and he couldn’t feel the bones in his body when he moved, and his thoughts weren’t there fully. His heart hadn’t stopped racing for days and days. He didn’t know where things stopped and ended. But he knew when they had landed on the oil rig. The _Norco_ , as Killian called it. He knew what he was seeing when he saw Pepper there, in that room, strapped to some sort of chair. Sweaty and exhausted and Peter wanted to hold her hand and promise that things would be okay, but Killian was standing between them.

 

Then they injected her, and she startled awake, looking around confused. Peter was shaking, silent. He didn’t want to talk anymore. He didn’t want to talk, ever again. It was too hard to speak. It was too hard to find words anymore. Every time someone spoke, they got hurt.

 

“Hi,” Killian greeted her.

 

“You think he’s gonna help you,” She breathed, “He won’t.”

 

Killian made a face Peter couldn’t read before he gabbed Peter’s wrist and pulled him forward, all three of them suddenly close together. Killian explained, looking at Pepper, “Having you two here isn’t just to motivate Tony Stark. It’s um…It’s actually more embarrassing than that…You’re here as my um…”

 

“Your trophies,” Pepper finished for him.

 

Killian smiled. Nodded.

 

Peter flinched when something slammed down behind them and he whirled to see the Iron Patriot suit marching towards them. It opened, and out fell a man onto the floor and it took a minute for Peter to process that he was staring at the President of the United States of America. Peter felt his skin grow cold suddenly, blinking rapidly.

 

It all felt like so much more. So much bigger. So high Peter couldn’t reach it.

 

They strung up President Ellis, over the oil. Over it with the intention to burn him and Peter couldn’t quite comprehend the idea of someone _burning_. That happened in the old stories, of witches in Salem. People didn’t burn other people anymore. But Killian wasn’t a person, Peter had decided. He was a monster. Not the good kind, like Doctor Banner, but a frightening, motivated monster with nothing and yet everything to lose.

 

Peter was taken from Pepper once more, and brought back to a room with countless television screens with Killian. Peter stood in the back, eyeing the guards warily. He could only latch on to the fact that all of these people were probably injected with the same stuff that had been injected into Pepper and Peter’s heart hammered at the idea.

 

The President was still strung up. They were still planning to broadcast his murder. They were _still, still still_ …

 

Gunshots.

 

Peter thought: _that was it_.

 

The television screen switched on to the other areas of the oil rig, just as suits filled the night sky. So many, Peter couldn’t count. His father’s suits. His distraction. His distance. There…There to save Pepper and to save him and Peter smiled widely at the thought.

 

Killian glanced back at him just long enough for Peter to whisper, “Told you.”

 

Then, it was the first explosion.

 

It slammed into the room like a ton of bricks and Peter felt it was even more aggressive than the fires that had hit their house. Peter’s body collapsed onto the floor, hands going over his head like he had been taught in school drills. An instinct, to duck and cover and protect. His body curled up as the whole room creaked and groaned and objects fell over him. They were there to save him and Pepper, but they didn’t know where he and Pepper were. They didn’t know where was safe and where wasn’t safe to blow up.

 

Peter squirmed, pulling his legs out from under the metal around him. A few of the other people in the room lay about unconscious but Killian appeared to be gone. Either crushed or fallen through the floor. Slowly, the boy made his way to his feet, inching outside methodically.

 

He had to get to Pepper.

 

His father’s suits were zooming through the air and Peter gasped, trying to breathe through the panic as he made his way upward, towards where they had left Pepper attached to the metal. His hands shook, most of the ladder taken out and he climbed over debris, slipping a few times in the process as he moved in the harsh lighting, framed by the blackness of the sky. Once he dragged himself into the room, Peter rolled onto his belly, sliding onto the floor as he glanced under the rubble that had piled up.

 

Pepper was there, trapped.

 

On the other side of her was Peter’s father, and on top of him was Killian, poking into his chest.

 

“Oooh,” Killian hummed, “Is it hot in there?”

 

Peter could hear the sizzling of his father’s armor and Killian taunted, “Stuck, you feel a little stuck? Like a little turtle, cooking in his little turtle suit?”

 

“Tony,” Pepper whispered.

 

“She’s watching,” Killian said, “I think you should close your eyes for this. Close your eyes, you don’t wanna see this – “

 

Peter didn’t hear the rest. He jumped up and gabbed the nearest pipe, before rearing back and swinging it into the back of Killian’s head. The man shouted in surprise and Peter’s father took the moment of distraction as an opportunity to produce a blade and slice Killian’s lower arm clean off…

 

It started growing back almost immediately, but Killian stood, stumbling to the side as Peter’s father muttered, “Yeah, you take a minute.”

 

The arm melted though, sliding through the floor and Peter shouted in surprise as Pepper went tumbling down, along with several of the debris trapping her. Peter dropped to his knees, leaning over the edge to see her, left at an odd angle on her back as she screamed. Peter couldn’t reach her, not even close. Without warning, the object Pepper had fallen on began to move, carrying her away and Peter called, “No!”

 

His father emerged from his suit, sitting up straight before looking down as well and watching Pepper be carried off. His dad order sharply, “Hide, right now. I’ll get her, but you have to _hide._ ”

 

“But – “ Peter started as his dad turned to run after her.

 

“No buts!” Tony ordered and Peter flinched, “Hide, right _now_! Do what I say!”

 

His father disappeared, and Peter groaned, jumping to his feet and running. He rushed outside onto one of the narrow walkways, slamming into the railing full force and nearly knocking the breath out of himself as he leaned over to watch his father sprint towards Pepper. Peter gripped the metal tightly beneath his hand and watched his father try and get closer, but the closer he got, the further Pepper seemed to be.

 

Peter looked away for a split second, just to see his Uncle Rhodey take on two of the mutated soldiers. The shipping crate they were standing on began to collapse, the wires snapping like twigs before it eventually swung over to where the President was strung up to the ropes over the oil. Uncle Rhodey and the President swung away just in time to avoid the explosion that sent flames flying upward into the sky.

 

But then he looked at his father.

 

And he looked at Pepper.

 

They were reaching…reaching…further and further and Peter could almost…He could almost breathe again. Could almost see them going home. Could almost and almost, but then it was nothing…Because Pepper slipped backward, like a slow-motion moment on television except it was _real_ , and Pepper was falling and the flames from the fire swallowed her up like nothing had ever existed in the first place.

 

There were several moments. Several. Long after his father had started fighting Killian again in the distance, the man no doubt fueled by rage and hatred. But Peter eventually came back. Snapped back, like his soul had left his body. He realized suddenly he had been screaming when he shut his mouth and had to gasp for air. His body trembled, tears streaming and she had fallen…she had fallen. Just like his mother and other father had fallen in that plane crash. Just like his dad had fallen out of that wormhole.

 

Peter started running, _sprinting_ towards where his father was fighting Killian, and he couldn’t just do nothing. He had… _it was Killian_. Killian made Pepper go away. Other people were always taking other people from him and Peter grit his teeth, going as fast as his feet would carry him. But before he ever made it to the other side of the rig, his father was blowing Killian to pieces inside the Mark 42 armor.

 

The platform Peter was on groaned and shook.

 

And Peter started falling too.

 

Not nearly as high as two-hundred feet, but several, and as he tumbled to a stop on the concrete below, he felt each bump and bruise. It melted with the heat though and Peter slid, before halting and lying on his back a few moments, gasping and staring up at the night sky. Christmas flashed in his mind, then disappeared as more booms echoed across the rig and Peter rolled over, searching desperately for his father in the chaos.

 

Several feet away there was a thump and Peter saw a dark form land. It only took a second for him to process it was his father and the collapsing dulled into the crackling of fire as Peter pushed himself to his feet, face sticky with tears and his nose was impossible to breathe through. He stumbled at first, before he ran towards the man who was moving slowly.

 

“Dad!” Peter screamed, voice cracking.

 

The man looked up and Peter slammed into him, falling to the ground beside him and nearly knocking his father over. His dad returned the embrace, still breathing, gasping, from the adrenaline and Peter could feel his father shaking. The boy’s heart ached. Like a cracking, deep in his ribs and he held tightly because that was all he could do to not shatter. Because Pepper was gone…she had…

 

But Peter heard it.

 

A deep grunt echoed across the concrete and Peter whirled, just as his father started pulling him behind himself. The hug cut short by a red figure emerging from the fire, like a demon. And Peter just…Why couldn’t Killian just die already? Just go _away_? Peter held tightly to his father’s arm as Killian began to approach them, charred to a crisp and hardly recognizable in the orange hue, his eyes glowing red.

 

“No more false faces,” Killian groaned, limping towards them as Peter’s father continued to drag him back, “You said you wanted the Mandarin. You’re looking right at him. It was always me, Tony, right from the start.”

 

He paused, holding out his arms, “I am the Mandarin!”

 

Peter’s fingers dug into his father’s arm, but without warning, a pipe slammed into Killian, throwing him to the side. Peter and his father flinched in surprise, until Peter’s eyes trailed up the person’s figure and settled on its face. And there…unreal, as if out of a dream…It was Pepper.

 

His father murmured, at a loss for words, “I got nothin’.”

 

Peter couldn’t speak. But he smiled. Fresh tears formed, relief flooded like waves. A suit whooshed overhead though, and everyone looked up. Panic immediately masked his father’s shock and he said, “Jarvis, subject on my twelve o’clock is not a target, disengage!”

 

Killian stood, and Peter noticed his father’s com wasn’t hooked to his ear. He readied himself to stand, push Pepper out of the way, but Pepper dodged the blast easily, turning to face Peter’s father. Both of them glanced at each other and Peter’s father asked as she sprinted towards them, “Oh what are you mad at me!?”

 

But instead of striking either of them, she used the man’s knee to propel herself upward and slam her fist through the suit’s chest and down into the ground. Peter’s jaw dropped, and he laughed, disbelieving almost when she ripped its head off and used it to knock Killian several feet away into the wall before kicking an explosive at him and shooting the blaster. It erupted into flames, along with Killian and both Peter and his father were left sitting in the shadow, shocked.

 

Peter felt his father begin to stand slowly and Peter did the same, gripping his hand tightly in his own as his father called, “Honey?”

 

“Oh my God,” Pepper breathed, turning slightly, “That was really violent.”

 

His father shook his head, “You just scared the devil out of me, I thought you were – “

 

“Dead? Why? ‘Cause I fell two-hundred feet?” Pepper responded, and Peter could have laughed. He really could have, at that point, but he could also cry. Because he too had thought she was gone. And when people went away, they went away forever, and Peter never wanted Pepper to go. His dad picked up the com, returning it to his ear as Pepper breathed, “I think I understand why you don’t wanna give up the suits. What am I going to complain about now?”

 

Peter looked at his dad, who smirked. His eyes found Peter’s and he pushed the boy’s hair back a bit as he muttered, “Well, it’s me. I’m sure she’ll think of something, huh?”

 

“Always,” Peter’s breath hitched, and his dad pulled him forward before they moved towards Pepper.

 

She shook her head, “No don’t touch me! I’m gonna burn both of you.”

 

“No, you’re not,” His dad didn’t hesitate to pull her close, “You’re not hot.”

 

“Is she gonna be okay?” Peter whispered

 

“No, she’s in a relationship with me, everything will never be okay. But I think I can figure this out, yeah. I almost had it twenty years ago when I was drunk, I think I can…Get her better.”

 

Peter then heard, “That’s what I do, I fix stuff.”

 

“And your distractions?” She whispered. The distractions Peter shouldn’t have heard about, but listening in was easy sometimes. The suits and the building and the rift. His dad was carding his hand through Peter’s hair absent mindedly.

 

“I’m gonna shave them down a little bit,” Peter’s dad said, tapping his com, “Jarvis. Hey. You know what to do. Screw it, it’s Christmas.”

 

And Peter had forgotten. He had one hundred percent forgotten it was even Christmas. His father lifted him, and Peter didn’t complain, because the past several days he had just wished his father could hold him. Peter reached over, wrapping his other arm around Pepper’s neck and he was squished into the hug between them. Happy, relieved, as the suits flew through the sky and erupted into fireworks. Peter laughed, and for a moment, just the moment, it was all forgotten. The wormhole. New York. Killian. Everything…

 

It went away, disintegrated, like fireworks.

 

 Peter kissed his father’s cheek, then Pepper’s.

 

…

 

By the time Peter had showered and gotten ready for bed in the hotel, it was nearing four in the morning.

 

His father wrapped the blankets tightly around him, and stared at him, taking in his bruised and battered face. Peter’s eyes felt so heavy, like stones, and he blinked over and over again to try to keep them open. His dad tilted his head and whispered softly, “Wow, kiddo…You look about ready to pass out.”

 

Peter shook his head, and his father went on, “You know, if you don’t sleep your presents don’t come.”

 

“That rule applies to you too,” Peter responded, blearily.

 

“Ah,” His dad hummed in realization, pulling back the blanket and slipping under, “So I’m guessing you’re not going to fall asleep until I do.”

 

Peter nodded, “And no negotiation.”

 

His dad chuckled softly, and Peter settled down beside him, simply listening to him breathe. It was almost foreign now, lying in a bed and feeling normal. Ever since New York, it never felt as such and Peter felt his chest welling. He turned his head slightly, looking at the outline of his dad’s face as he murmured, “Dad?”

 

“Hmmm?”

 

“How is Iron Man never scared?”

 

There was no reply. And Peter thought maybe he had overstepped. But it was confusion. Because Iron Man didn’t hesitate. Iron Man wasn’t scared. Iron Man did what needed to be done but…well, Peter just…

 

“I was really scared, Dad.”

 

His father looped an arm around him tightly, “I was too.”

 

But Peter thought…well, that _couldn’t_ be true. His father wasn’t scared of anything, not really. He always won the battle. That was just how it worked. The heroes stopped the bad guys. It kept the world in one piece and without that balance Peter supposed things wouldn’t work. But he didn’t argue with his father’s words, just allowed himself to be held close. One day Peter would learn to not be afraid too.

 

Peter’s father fell asleep before he did.

 

…

 

Peter had watched his father be put under for his surgery to remove the shrapnel from his chest from a window. There was something off, always watching from a window and Peter held Pepper’s hand the entire time until it was removed. It was the same hospital where Happy was recovering, getting better, always improving and back to his snarky, grumpy self.

 

DUM-E was pulled from the wreckage of their old home, and Remy was salvaged, despite being damaged by the salt water and most of his hair fell out. It was decided New York was the next best place to go. Ned was there after all, the Avengers, and the Tower.

 

One day when he’d be old enough to help his father, it’d be his own to protect.

 

It had been his mother’s city after all, and Peter knew that it would always be _his_ city too.


	5. Ultron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!!!! Got another long one. They just seem to be so long by the time I'm finished, so don't feel obligated to read it all in one sitting, it really is a whole lot!! But I hope you enjoy anyway, and as always, let me know what you think! ❤

It wasn’t that Peter hated therapy, it was just…therapy hated him.

 

For one, most of his appointments with Doctor Weathering were scheduled for Mondays. Peter wasn’t happy on Monday, mostly due to the fact Flash Thompson was particularly aggressive with his verbal attacks on those days. And recently, Mondays were even worse because he had found out that Flash had passed the entrance exam for Midtown High School, so when eighth grade wrapped up, Peter still wouldn’t be able to escape the other boy.

 

Midtown was meant to be a way out. It was only the end of April, but the anxieties that September were sure to bring were already unbearable. A new school. Being a Freshman. And Flash would be there. Luckily, Ned had passed his entrance exam as well, so that was what the universe had handed him. That was the ‘I’m sorry, Flash is following you, but you have your best friend so deal with it’.

 

Mondays drug on and on, and topping off his long day with a therapy session just did not bode well. Especially since he had spent two years with Doctor Weathering and it all seemed a bit pointless to that extent. His father worried though. Pepper worried. Peter didn’t like talking about the nightmares, and the thing was, he had been handling them and managing them since before he was eleven. Probably younger than that, if the dream-memories served correctly.

 

Sometimes they didn’t serve correctly. Sometimes none of it served correctly. But talking about his feelings with Doctor Weathering was just something heavy to add to all the other heavy things and Peter preferred to ignore the fact that his life was shrouded in a lot of chaos and just exist. Just be. And just keep moving and moving, because moving kept it off his shoulders. Kept the weight a little lighter, like a breeze.

 

But, his father insisted. And if his father insisted, that was that.

 

His dad always got the deciding vote, and that was kind of…well, his father tried, and that was all Peter could ask. Asking didn’t come naturally to his father. Getting input. Peter supposed his father still saw him as the same four-year-old that had come to live with him all those years ago. The four-year-old that had been snatched and taken and almost killed because of who his parents were and had been and would be forever.

 

But he was also polite to Doctor Weathering. She was just doing her job, after all, and a part of that job was to ‘pry’ in areas Peter found particularly buried. The areas like the nightmares, the wormhole, the night on the oil rig. It was all sort of…splintering, like thorns, when she asked. She always asked, in every session, at the end. After they’d go over his week, talk about things at school. She’d always finish with the same question…

 

“And the nightmares?”

 

Peter tilted his head downward, “They’re…doable.”

 

“Doable,” Doctor Weathering echoed, “To what scale does doable go?”

 

Peter shrugged, “Five.”

 

She was unreadable. Peter wondered if that meant she was a good or bad therapist. But even he could see the flash of disbelief, the same flash that his father got when Peter would sometimes pace in the night, then insist he was fine. It was like a high alert system, and some nights were better than others. It was nothing that interfered with his everyday life, because if it did, his father would almost certainly put a stop to it.

 

Ultimately, as most Mondays go, Doctor Weathering shut her book and Peter was released. Happy was already waiting for him in the lobby and Peter practically sprinted to the car, beginning to yank on the handle trying to get in, but it wouldn’t budge.

 

“Calm down, kid,” Happy huffed, unlocking it with a click of the keys, “Why’re you always running? I swear if I had half of your energy I’d never need another espresso.”

 

Peter buckled his seatbelt, to avoid any lectures, before replying, “Dad is letting me have an hour in the lab before homework since I passed my entrance exam. Privileges last an entire month, and since Doctor Banner has been staying at the tower with us, I’ve got all kinds of questions to ask him – “

 

“Christ, you’re gonna make the guy turn green. I highly doubt he wants to hang out with a hyperactive thirteen-year-old.”

 

Peter corrected, “Thirteen years, eight months, and seventeen days, Happy. That means in a little more than four years, I’m gonna be old enough to build a suit and join the Avengers. I need to learn as much as I can.”

 

Happy sighed deeply, pulling away from the curb, “Your dad isn’t going to let you be an Avenger at eighteen, Pete. You’ll be lucky if he lets you be an Avenger at all. The second you graduate, he’ll be sending you to college.”

 

The boy let out a frustrated sound, “I don’t need college.”

 

“I wouldn’t tell Tony that,” Happy tsked, “His head might explode.”

 

Peter huffed, flopping back against the seat. Ultimately, Happy was right. The man’s head would explode if Peter even uttered the fact that college had little no appeal to him. The Avengers was the goal. Building a suit, joining, helping his father and keeping him and Pepper safe. Peter had spent too many years on the sidelines, and he wanted _more_ now. He wanted to do more and be more and if that meant skipping out on the college years, so be it. What was even appealing about more school?

 

Peter twiddled his thumbs, “Did you go to college, Happy?”

 

“I boxed,” Was Happy’s only reply.

 

“So…no.”

 

“I _boxed_.”

 

“But that’s a no,” Peter smirked.

 

Happy groaned, “Kid, if you even think about using me as an excuse for this silly crusade of yours, I’m going to actually flip out and you’ll take the school bus every day.”

 

Peter grimaced, “That’s all fine and good, but when September rolls around I’ll be going to Midtown, which is in Queens and the buses don’t come out to Manhattan. And Dad isn’t gonna let me take the subway because he thinks I’ll get kidnapped by ‘predators’ and stuff.”

 

A sigh, “Your dad couldn’t have just sent you to one of those stuck up schools like every other kid in his money circle?”

 

“Unlike them, my dad wants me to learn something useful,” Peter sat back up straight, “Like science! You know what else is science – “

 

“Don’t say it – “

 

“Building my Iron Man suit and becoming an Avenger!”

 

“And you said it…Listen, Pete, you’re _thirteen_. Stop thinking about this kind of shi – stuff and enjoy being a kid for just a little while longer.”

 

Peter’s eyes narrowed, voice coming out bitter, “It’s hard to enjoy being a kid when people are trying to murder your dad and family on a regular basis. I mean, look what happened to you two years ago? Or Pepper? Dad, and New York and everything bad happens to _us_ , Happy. I have to do something.”

 

Silence engulfed them. Happy adjusted his hands on the steering wheel, breathing deeply. His eyes found Peter in the rearview mirror and Happy hummed, “Why do I have a feeling you haven’t said any of this to Doctor Weathering?”

 

Peter felt a knot form in his throat. He swallowed thickly, sinking into the seat, feeling small. He crossed his arms over himself and leaned his head against the window, choosing not to reply verbally.

 

…

 

 The moment they got to the tower, Peter ran into the lobby, sprinting past the front desk to the elevators. Happy struggled to keep up with him and Peter bounced on his toes waiting for the doors to open and let him in. Happy appeared beside him, breathing heavily as he said, “Christ, Goldrush was so much better at keeping you still.”

 

Peter felt his heart clench at the name. Ms. Goldrush had been with him since Afghanistan had happened. But then her mother had gotten sick…Alzheimer’s…and she became her fulltime care giver. Peter’s father of course ‘donated’ towards her mother’s care, but ultimately Ms. Goldrush felt like it was her duty to stay with her mother. And Peter…well, he tried really hard not to be hurt by it. She was only his nanny after all, but she had been the source of a great deal of comfort.

 

Then Happy had gotten another job, besides his duty as ‘forehead of security’ for Stark Industries. Pepper was given a new body guard and Happy was handed off to Peter, much to Happy’s dismay. Peter supposed it was mostly because Peter’s father liked to refer to him as the new ‘nanny’ and Happy didn’t like that title very much. He hated it more than being called forehead.

 

The doors opened and Peter slipped inside, Happy following as they took the elevator up to the research floors. Happy, at first, attempted to send them to the residential area, but Peter was quick to swat his hand away from the buttons before arguing, “Top ten floors, Hap, that’s where the labs are.”

 

“Aren’t you hungry? Your teacher said you skipped lunch again – “

 

“I’m not,” Peter interrupted. It was all a distraction, he’d eat a Poptart or something later after he got his hour of lab time. Happy pinched his arm and Peter gasped, yanking it away as he looked up at the man with a glare.

 

Happy hummed, “You’re gonna be scrawny forever if you don’t eat more. You gotta eat to build muscle. Superheroes have muscles, you know? And they eat more than strawberry Poptarts.”

 

The doors opened and Peter rolled his eyes before rushing out, not in the mood to argue over his Poptart addiction. He ran to the balcony, leaning over and peering down into the lab below. He saw the top of someone’s head, a white coat bright under the florescent lab lights. Peter shouted happily, “Doctor Banner!”

 

The man’s head yanked upward as Peter started down the stairs onto the main floor. Doctor Banner smiled, removing his glasses and sticking them in his breast pocket. Greeting softly, Doctor Banner said, “Hi Peter. Came to redeem your lab time?”

 

“Yep,” Peter dropped his backpack, trotting over to where Doctor Banner was looking over some papers, “What’re you doing?”

 

Happy’s voice called from above, “Kid, don’t bother him-“

 

“Oh, he’s fine,” Doctor Banner waved him off, “It’s really just paperwork, nothing fun.”

 

Peter looked up at Happy who was peering from the balcony and he stuck out his tongue at the man. Happy’s eyes narrowed and Peter fought the urge to laugh as Happy ordered, “Okay, I’m going to residential. Don’t irritate the man, Peter, and don’t blow yourself up playing around in here. You dad said these aren’t toys-”

 

“I know,” Peter whirled around, looking back at the papers and turning his attention to Doctor Banner. His eyes scanned some of the papers, several had Doctor Banner’s handwriting scribbled on them in pen. Peter tilted his head and he questioned, “Nuclear Physics?”

 

“Well, a vast variety of physics…but the focus is Nuclear Physics.”

 

Peter hummed in response, before turning and moving to his own work table that his father had made for him some time ago. Peter dug through his backpack, pulling out his notebook and pencils, opening to the page he had been working on most of the day at school. A schematic of a potential blaster, ‘Iron Man’ glove. A place he had started a while back, when he could get alone in the lab. Peter turned to one of the shelves housing the tools that his father deemed he was capable of using. Peter casted a glance to Doctor Banner who was looking back down at his papers and the boy took a breath before pushing the shelf away from the wall.

 

Doctor Banner looked over at him as Peter pulled out the stringy, wire exposed version of his father’s blaster that he had started building himself, trying to recreate it because he knew his dad would never willingly give him one.

 

The elder man’s brows tugged downward as Peter brought it over to his workstation and Peter gave him a sheepish smile. He trusted Banner enough not to mention it to his father, and Peter sat down on his stool slowly. Grabbing several of his tools, Peter broke the confused silence by saying, “I know what you’re thinking.”

 

“Does Tony know you’re building that?”

 

“Well…no,” Peter mumbled, “That’s why I had it behind the shelf. But, when it’s finished, I’ll show him.”

 

“Peter…”

 

“It’s almost done, Doctor Banner,” Peter pleaded, “I’ve almost finished it, and I built it from scratch. I just…I wanna show him I’m capable of building this myself. Hot weapons are confusing though, you know? And the plasma keeps overheating and I’ve gotten burned like six times…”

 

“Peter!” Doctor Banner looked horrified moving over to his workbench.

 

Peter flinched, “Yeah, buuuut I’ve nearly got it together. I was working on it all day at school today and I think I’ve just about got it figure out.”

 

He pushed the diagram scrawled in his notebook over to Doctor Banner who looked down at it, putting his glasses back on. Peter stuck his arm into the glove, flexing slightly as he went on, “It’s basically an electrical charged version of matter, right? Like…lightning. And that kinda stuff is hard to control and contain, but Dad does it and even Ivan Vanko did, _what_ , five years ago? It’s just… _hot_.”

 

Doctor Banner looked like he wanted to say something, head popping up from the diagram as Peter grabbed a screwdriver and started twisting. Doctor Banner finally found words, arguing, “I really think you shouldn’t be playing with this. Your father will-“

 

Peter ignored him, grunting as he struggled to twist the tool, “ – If I just turn it – “

 

“Peter,” Doctor Banner tried again, “It’s not a toy.”

 

“I know it’s not a toy,” Peter sighed, “Hence why I had it _hidden behind the shelf_. But I was going to ask you, if you thought me closing the energy current – just a little bit – if you thought it’d work.”

 

Doctor Banner set the notebook down, responding in a tentative manner, “Maybe…but it could also cause a buildup and a backfire, so you’re gonna want to be careful – “

 

Peter cut him off, “Alright, let’s try it.”

 

“ _What_? No, what?”

 

Peter finished turning the screw driver, beginning to fire up the glove. It glowed slightly, and Peter leaned back, standing next to it. He wasn’t going to fire it, specifically because they were in a glass shrouded laboratory, but without warning there was a sharp jolt within the glove and Peter’s eyes widened in realization as the blast erupted, slamming into the glass in front of him, shattering out the wall. Peter was sent backward, into the same shelf he had been hiding his blaster behind, several of the tools sitting on it falling down.

 

Then the glove was hot. Hot, hot, hot.

 

“Ow!” Peter shouted, ripping the blaster off, his palm stinging as he threw the object away from him and pulled the assaulted limb close to his chest. His eyes stung slightly, and he shut them, groaning, “Holy shit.”

 

Doctor Banner kneeled beside him, tugging gently at his arm, “Are you okay? Let me see – “

 

“What the _hell_ is going on down there?”

 

Peter’s eyes snapped open and he looked up at the balcony. Walking towards the staircase was his father, and Peter felt a bit more worried about having just said shit than having shot out the window until his brain caught up from the propel backward and he realized…yeah…he wasn’t supposed to be building something like that, and he wasn’t supposed to be cursing, so it was all kind of…messed up.

 

Peter looked at his hand that Doctor Banner was inspecting. It was already blistered, red and angry. He heard his father approach, stomping over broken glass before he too was kneeling, but in front of Peter and suddenly the world felt very small and Peter felt very trapped. His dad looked mad, dressed in one of his fancy suits. Peter blinked several times, before asking, “What’re you doing here already?”

 

“Oh sorry to disappoint,” His dad hissed, running his fingers over the back of Peter’s head where he had hit the shelf with considerable force while Doctor Banner inspected his hand, “Trust me, I had intended to be at the office until tonight, but lucky for me I got to leave and witness my kid try to kill himself and my friend remain complicit – “

 

Doctor Banner looked up and opened his mouth, but Peter broke through, “Doctor Banner wasn’t…complicit. I was working on my blaster and – “

 

“I’m glad you brought that up,” His father silenced him, before looking at Doctor Banner and saying, “Maria Hill is in residential. Steve, Nat, and Clint are already there with her, so you go ahead while I take care of daredevil here.”

 

Doctor Banner, at a loss for words, casted one last look at Peter before ordering Tony, “You’re gonna want to wrap the burn.”

 

“Trust me, I’ve had plenty of those, I’m a professional at it by now,” Peter’s father insisted, “Go on.”

 

Once Doctor Banner had ascended the stairs and the elevator had dinged, announcing his exit, Peter’s father turned to him, his eyes narrowing. Peter swallowed, before pushing himself to his feet shakily and unfortunately, the taller man stood as well, and Peter was once more out-heighted. Peter was led to sit on one of the stools while his father grabbed an emergency kit and Peter had the urge to break the quiet, because it was awkward and cruel. But his dad did that for him when he dropped the kit down on the table.

 

“That was stupid,” His dad said, “That was really, really stupid.”

 

Peter shook his head, “You don’t understand, it was just a trial run. I swear, trial-six went so much better.”

 

“So, this has happened more than six times?” His father was obviously trying to coat his anger in something that made very little sense to Peter. The boy cringed slightly when his father dabbed something on his burn before he began to wrap it.

 

Peter glanced at the paper, “Well, technically, eleven times. But I almost have it – “

 

His father raised a finger after he finished his task, “I don’t want you building weapons.”

 

Peter huffed, “You said it yourself in front of that senator that Iron Man is a prosthesis.”

 

“A blaster is a _weapon_ ,” His father snapped, and Peter jumped, “What is this? I give you lab privileges and the first thing you do _is shoot out a wall_? The point is to come here and tinker, to get a feel for the technology, not try to build your own little…little…”

 

Peter whispered, “Iron Man.”

 

“Iron Man,” His dad scoffed, “Pete…you’re not building a suit, do you understand me?”

 

“But Dad – “

 

“No,” His father’s voice sounded mad…upset, but Peter could hear something else too that was in the back, like a monster in the man’s tone. Not a frightening monster, but a _frightened_ monster. Scared and shaky and trembling and Peter felt guilt rising like bile because it was the same tone his father got when thinking about the wormhole three years ago.

 

He went on, “You are going to do what kids do. You’re going to go to school. You’re going to do homework and you’re going to have friends. Then after you graduate you’ll go to college, in whatever field you want Pete, whatever you wanna do and then you’ll – “

 

“But I want _more_ than that,” Peter insisted, standing off the stool, “I wanna do what you do. I wanna help the Avengers, I want to _be_ an Avenger.”

 

His father paled considerably. As if the words had dug a knife into him. Then that pale face contorted into nothing. Nothing that Peter could read. Like a blank stare, distant and Peter swallowed thickly, because his father very rarely looked like that. He leaned down and made eye contact with Peter before saying, “You’re not going to be an Avenger.”

 

Peter felt his shoulders begin to shake, frustration deepening. Peter’s lip trembled, “ _Why_?”

 

“Because I said so,” His dad stood back up, to full height, “It’s dangerous and reckless and there’s no _need_ for you to do that. I’m not going to risk you. So, that’s enough. You’re not going to build a suit. You’re not going to be an Avenger. If you come to the lab, you come to tinker. That’s it, or you won’t have any lab privileges at all, do you understand?”

 

Peter’s eyes burned. He lowered his head, unable to look at his father anymore as heat raised into his face. It was like an anger, but almost a deeply dug sadness. His father always said he could be anything, but not an Avenger and it made no sense. How could he be anything but not that? Why did his father believe in every dream except this one? He had even supported Peter wanting to be a freaking astronaut when he was six, but this was so…

 

“That’s not fair,” Peter croaked, before he turned and rushed up the stairs. His father called his name several times, but Peter jumped into the elevator, headed to their personal residence as to avoid accidentally running into the Avengers and Maria Hill with his tear stained face.

 

The minute he stepped off, he saw Pepper on one of the couches, her laptop in front of her. She paused in her typing, looking up at the blotchy cheeked boy. She moved the computer aside, eyebrows furrowing, and she asked softly, “Hey…what’s the matter?”

 

Peter didn’t say anything. He just ran to her waiting embrace.

 

…

 

Apparently, Maria Hill was there to send the Avengers overseas.

 

A place called Sokovia.

 

Peter got most of that information from Jarvis, who relayed what was going on elsewhere in the house while Peter took to hiding in his bedroom. Despite the fact he was starving, he couldn’t bring himself to leave and find a Poptart or something because he just didn’t want to face his father or Pepper after his brief meltdown over their conversation. It was just lucky his bedroom had an en-suite bathroom.

 

The sun went down eventually, and Peter finished what was left of his homework before showering and readying for bed. He knew his father and the others would take the quinjet soon to leave, and Peter should have gone to say goodbye, because missions were dangerous. And he always worried for his father so much. But his own anger wouldn’t let him do it, so he turned out his lights and he climbed into bed.

 

The decision to say goodbye was made for him though when his bedroom door opened.

 

He heard footsteps cross the room and his bed creaked as someone sat on the edge. Peter was rolled on his side, facing the giant glass windows to the glow of the city. There was a deep sigh from the person behind him before his father’s voice said, “Kind of weird for you to be in bed, considering it’s not even eight yet.”

 

When Peter said nothing, his lamp turned on and the darkness folded back. The boy rolled over, staring up at his father who was studying him silently. The man went on, “You also didn’t eat dinner. And Happy says you didn’t eat lunch at school. So, I’m gonna need you to get the leftovers from the microwave before you sleep. Because if I leave it up for debate you’ll eat Poptarts.”

 

“I’m fasting in protest,” Peter muttered, “Like Gandhi.”

 

“Hmmm,” His dad reached down and hooked him under the arms, gently pulling him into a sitting position. His father pushed some of his hair out of the way and questioned, “And is this protest over our conversation earlier?”

 

Peter blinked, “That, and you’re leaving me. Again.”

 

His father let out a puff of air, “I’m not leaving you.”

 

“Yes, you are,” Peter said, “You do. I’m always left here.”

 

It got really quiet after that. His dad actually looked startled. Like recognition sparked in his eyes, but then disappeared again behind another façade. It happened like that. The façade that shrouded panic and pain and worry. Peter was the center of his father’s worry a lot of the time and the guilt made Peter’s stomach twist, with the hunger. He would probably eat those leftovers after all, and even if he didn’t he wouldn’t put it past his dad to force feed him.

 

“Tell you what,” Peter’s father started, “Thor is supposed to be coming in for this mission – “

 

Peter’s eyes widened, and his dad went on, “If this goes well, I’ll see if he’ll let you try to lift the hammer.”

 

“Holy shit,” Peter whispered.

 

“ _Mouth_. Or I’ll feed you soap.”

 

Peter shook his head, “Sorry. B-But wow, okay yeah…yeah that sounds freaking awesome.”

 

His dad’s mouth turned into a slight smile. A sound sprang from the watch he was wearing and he glanced at it briefly before sighing and looking back at Peter. Peter knew what it meant, and he felt his heart twist just a little bit. His father kissed the side of his head, murmuring, “I won’t be gone very long.”

 

“I know,” Peter replied. He never was. Almost never, “I love you.”

 

“Love you too, kiddo…Eat your dinner, not Poptarts, or I’ll stop buying them.”

 

That wouldn’t happen. One of Cap’s favorite things about today’s society was Poptarts.

 

…

 

Peter was unfortunately not excused from school the next day.

 

He had learned a long time ago that when his father went on missions, the anxiety it induced wasn’t enough to get him out of having to go to class. So the next morning, after the quinjet was long gone and Maria Hill kept reassuring him that his father and the others were doing fine on the assignment, he was brought to school by Happy and dropped off. He didn’t tell anyone he felt sick, deep in his belly over it. He didn’t even really know what the mission was about, just that it somehow involved Loki’s scepter.

 

“Wait,” Ned’s voice hissed, “So the Avengers are on a mission? All together? Right as we speak?”

 

Peter nodded, “Somewhere in Sokovia.”

 

“Looking for Loki’s crazy mind control stick?”

 

“His scepter,” Peter corrected, leaning over his papers at the lunch table, “Look uh…Can we focus on this right now? We gotta figure out what extracurriculars we’re gonna do next semester. There’s a mile-long list and we’re supposed to pick two or three.”

 

 Ned looked at Peter’s paper and scrunched his face, “Well, you’re taking robotics club, band, and decathlon. I’ll do decathlon and robotics, but band isn’t really…my kinda thing.”

 

“Pepper says learning an instrument is good for being well rounded,” Peter argued, “You know my grandma played the piano? At least my dad says she did.”

 

Ned blinked, “Most old people do.”

 

Peter stared at him blankly before turning back to the paper. He opened his mouth to speak again when a hand smacked him on the back of the head and he flinched, whirling around to see Flash Thompson standing behind their table, grinning down at Peter, almost maliciously. Peter swallowed thickly, before Flash asked, “What’re you losers doing over here?”

 

“Go away, Flash,” Ned groaned.

 

“Shut it,” Flash ordered, reaching out and yanking the yellow slip of paper away. His eyes scanned it quickly and he scoffed, looking down at Peter, “You’re not seriously going to join the decathlon team, are you Penis?”

 

Peter blinked, trying to find words. The thing was, Peter had all the dreams of being an Avenger and yet the thought of standing up for himself against bullies was somewhat terrifying. Maybe a mask would hide the rejection, but it was painful, and Peter could hardly talk past the lump in his throat, whispering, “I…”

 

“Because you’ll never make it,” Flash interrupted.

 

“He scored higher than you did on the entrance exam,” Ned snapped, “He’d make it before you did.”

 

Flash’s eyes narrowed, and he shoved the paper down, into Ned’s chest, nearly knocking the other boy off of his chair. Peter quickly reached out and grabbed Ned’s wrist, stopping him from toppling as he looked at Flash. Peter muttered, “Why can’t you just leave us alone? It’s not like we go looking to bother _you_.”

 

“But you do bother me,” Flash chuckled, “Walking around like you own the place just ‘cause of who your dad is-“

 

“He literally does none of that, that’s all you,” Ned interrupted, “Peter might not tattle on you, but I will, so leave.”

 

Flash’s mouth set into a thin line, glancing over at the cafeteria monitor across the room. Flash leaned down and whispered, getting inches from Peter’s face, “I really must insist you don’t join the decathlon team. No one would want you there anyway. They’d only find you annoying.”

 

And then, without another word he stood and walked away, hands shoved into his pockets. Peter let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding, and he looked over at Ned. Ned shook his head back and forth before saying, “I don’t know why you don’t tell your dad about him. He could make Flash shit his pants.”

 

“We gotta stop saying that word, my dad is gonna make me eat soap,” Peter mumbled absentmindedly before ripping back to the real word, “A-And I don’t want to tattle to my dad about a bully. He’d _never_ take me seriously then if he had to come fight all my battles for me. I’m trying to become an Avenger here, dude.”

 

Ned shook his head, “Flash makes you miserable.”

 

“So does English but we gotta go there next. _Anyway_ …I’m signing you up for band, I don’t wanna do it by myself.”

 

“Ugh.”

 

…

 

Peter knew something was wrong the minute he got back to the tower.

 

There was a team of doctors there, and Peter could see them waiting outside on the deck where the quinjet typically made its landing. Peter wasn’t expecting the team back so soon, but there was a worried glint in Maria Hill’s eyes as Peter approached and the doors slid open. He dropped his backpack before going outside, wind whipping around him from how high up they were. Maria’s back was turned to him and she was typing something into the tablet in her arms.

 

“Agent Hill?” Peter said.

 

She whirled around, eyes wide as she took in the thirteen-year-old. The worried glint transferred into a hidden emotion and she smiled slightly as Peter tried not to glance at the doctors, waiting with a gurney. Peter’s hands shook slightly, he swallowed and Peter stuttered, “W-who…?”

 

“Peter,” She started, “I think Pepper wanted you in the residence when you got back from school – “

 

“Someone is hurt – “ Peter tried again.

 

Maria interrupted, “You shouldn’t keep her waiting.”

 

She was lying. For an agent, she was a _bad_ liar. Peter’s gaze then shifted into the distance where a small dot was forming, and Peter didn’t have to wait to realize it was the quinjet coming towards the tower. His heart was rising into his throat and he started trying to walk around Maria, but she took him by his arm and pulled him back gently towards the door as the doctors waited. The wind picked up as the aircraft landed and Peter wanted to vomit all over everything.

 

He looked back at Maria, eyes wide, but it was too loud to ask now. He should have asked sooner, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t find his voice as it touched down and the ramp slid open. But almost as soon as it was opened, and the doctors and other personnel rushed forward, Peter saw it was Clint Barton being rolled out of the ship.

 

Peter stepped aside, out their way, before he squeezed in front of Agent Hill, rushing up the ramp. Thor was coming down, the scepter in hand and usually Peter would be extremely amazed, but his heart was still a bit sore from the panic and his eyes scanned the belly of the quinjet, settling on his father who was speaking to Captain America.

 

“Dad,” Peter called, rushing towards him. His dad looked slightly startled as Peter slammed into him, wrapping his arms around his middle tightly and squeezing. The boy let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. His father pulled away from the hug, smirking down at him, but Peter’s skin must have been pale because his face immediately contorted into concern.

 

“Hey,” His dad felt his forehead, “What’s wrong?”

 

“Labs all set up boss,” Maria Hill stated as she entered the craft. She looked at Peter, her eyes softening, “Sorry, I think the doctors may have startled him a bit.”

 

His father nodded in understanding before acknowledging what she had said, and pointing at Cap, “He’s actually the boss. I just pay for everything, and design everything, and make everyone look cooler.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes, looking at Peter before patting his shoulder and going to join Maria, his voice fading away as he questioned, “What’s the word on Strucker?”

 

Peter turned his gaze back towards his father, who was grimacing now. The boy stepped back, gathering his bearings before asking, “W-what happened to Clint? Is he okay?”

 

“Doctor Cho is the best, so I’m sure he’ll be fine,” His father wrapped an arm around his shoulder as the two of them exited the carrier, out into the sunlight, “Wanna tell me if _you’re_ okay?”

 

Peter swallowed, glancing back at Maria and Cap, then forward back towards the inside of the tower. They were once again shrouded in artificial lighting and Peter sunk into his father’s side, trying not to be obvious in his anxiety, and his hands continued to shake uncontrollably. Peter whispered, “I just…well, I saw the doctors and I thought…”

 

The only verbal response he got was a quiet hum of understanding from the man, his arm tightening just a bit on Peter’s shoulders. Eventually, as they headed in the direction of Doctor Banner’s personal lab, his father spoke quietly to him, “Well, don’t tell Barton this, but I’m much too talented to get skimmed like that.”

 

Peter snorted.

 

His dad veered off briefly though, heading towards where Doctor Cho and the others were leaning over Clint’s prone form on the gurney. Peter went to follow, but his dad held up a finger and said, “Why don’t you go see what Bruce is doing? I must warn you though, he’s under oath to tell me if you try to blow anything up again.”

 

Peter bounded down to the lower level though, still able to see his father upward through the glass. The door slid open and Peter entered the larger room where Doctor Banner was standing beside freaking Thor Odinson, overlooking the scepter that was floating almost perfectly in the center of the room. Peter approached, brows furrowed downward as he got closer.

 

“Ah, Starkson,” Thor clapped him on the shoulder and Peter nearly toppled over, “It has been some time since I saw you last. You’ve grown!”

 

Peter felt something like pride. _Ha_. He wished Happy was there to hear that.

 

Doctor Banner was typing into his tablet and Peter’s eyes narrowed on the scepter before asking, “So, are you gonna bring this back to Asgard with you?”

 

“In three days’ time,” Thor replied, “First, your father and Banner had requested to do a study of it. I’ve also promised to stay for the revels.”

 

Peter blinked, “Revels?”

 

“Party,” Doctor Banner smiled, “Your dad is having a party to celebrate our…’victory’?”

 

Peter turned back to Thor when the god added, “Yes, and your father told me of your wish to try your luck with lifting Mjölnir. I believe that would be an adequate time for you to attempt the feat.”

 

The boy laughed. Thor ruffled his hair before turning and practically stomping out of the lab. Peter looked back at Doctor Banner, questioning, “So, why’re you and Dad going to study the scepter? I mean…isn’t it just a magic trick or something?”

 

“Well…not exactly,” Doctor Banner started, but Peter’s father walked into the room suddenly, causing Doctor Banner to pause in his explanation. He walked towards Peter’s father, tablet still in hand and Peter followed as the man questioned, “How’s he doing?”

 

“Oh, unfortunately he’s still Barton.”

 

“That’s terrible.”

 

“He’s fine,” His father concluded, “He’s thirsty, alright…”

 

He turned and clapped his hands together, approaching where Peter stood close to the floating scepter, “Look alive, Jarvis. It’s playtime. We’ve only got a couple of days with this joystick, so let’s make the most of it. Update me on the structural and compositional analysis.”

 

Peter watched inquisitively as his father shifted. There was always something extremely fascinating in the way the man moved when he worked, like floating on air and Peter just…he could only dream of being there one day. His father pressed several buttons as Jarvis responded, “The scepter is alien. There are elements I can’t quantify.”

 

“So, there’re elements you _can_.”

 

“The jewel appears to be a protective housing for something inside. Something powerful.”

 

His dad nodded, “Like a reactor.”

 

“Like a computer,” Jarvis corrected, “I believe I’m ciphering code.”

 

Peter approached as his father started making some kind of odd drink. Peter’s face scrunched in distaste, only assuming it was something for Clint. His dad glanced over, snorting at Peter’s facial expression. Peter looked back at the scepter a moment before asking, “What’re you guys gonna use that for?”

 

“Well, there’re a few things I have in mind. Just as soon as Jarvis can cipher that code for me.”

 

…

 

Despite not being a god, super soldier, or scientist, Clint Barton was one of Peter’s favorite people on the team.

 

 Peter didn’t know if it was because he was funny or if it was because he was human. Even without an Iron Man suit, Clint and Nat were able to keep up with the Avengers and Peter appreciated and admired that somehow. Because Peter was just a human, and at the moment he had no suit and his father wasn’t going to let him build a suit. But Clint and Nat still fought, and Peter thought well…if his father never let him build a suit, there were still other ways to be a hero.

 

Peter found Barton lying on the table under Cho’s machine, being ‘zapped’. Nat was there, along with Doctor Banner, and Doctor Banner looked relatively amazed as he breathed out, “She’s creating tissue.”

 

Peter could have used that when he had nearly blasted his hand off.

 

He flexed his bandaged hand, glancing down at Clint who looked over as him and greeted, “’Sup squirt.”

 

“Not a lot,” Peter replied, “What happened?”

 

Clint waved a hand, “Just a cheap shot. Really, I could’ve handled it on my own.”

 

Nat rolled her eyes, “Don’t give the kid that ‘lone soldier’ act. Clint was actually a huge whiner out there. A true cry baby, I couldn’t even console him.”

 

Peter laughed, but he didn’t believe it. Clint would never whine, it just wasn’t in the man’s DNA. He was much more of a silent sufferer. Peter jumped when his father entered the room, carrying the nasty drinks he was making as he said, “Oh, he’s flatlining. Call it. Time?”

 

“No, no, no,” Clint insisted, “I’m going to live forever. I’ll be made of plastic.”

 

Peter’s father handed Clint one of the drinks and Nat as well and Peter didn’t understand how they drank those things. Clint sat up just enough to take a few sips of it as Doctor Cho explained, “You’ll be made of you, Mr. Barton. Your girlfriend won’t even be able to tell the difference.”

 

“Well, I don’t have a girlfriend,” Clint said.

 

“I can’t help you with that,” Doctor Cho grinned before looking at Peter’s father, “This is the next thing, Tony. Your clunky metal suits are going to be left in the dust.”

 

“Well, that’s exactly the plan,” Peter felt his father put a hand on his shoulder and squeeze, and he knew that was somehow aimed towards him. Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the silent comment, the one that said _‘this is how it is and how it’s going to be’_ and he instead stood still, listening as his father insisted that Doctor Cho come to the party on Saturday.

 

Once his father turned and exited the room, Peter whirled to follow. Out in the hallway, once they were not longer within earshot of the others, Peter called, “Okay, that wasn’t cool.”

 

“What wasn’t cool?” His father turned slightly to look at him.

 

“What you said,” Peter elaborated, “About the suits. You can’t really want them to be ‘left in the dust’ right? I mean, you haven’t spent half my life building them just to let them fade out.”

 

“You’re annotating a _very_ brief conversation; I don’t like that. Pepper does it plenty.”

 

The man kept walking, heading back towards the lab and Peter rushed behind him, trying not to let his head explode off his shoulders. He stood at the top of the stairs and looked down at his dad, saying, “You’re a futurist, I know you don’t mean that.”

 

“I am a futurist,” His dad huffed, and Peter saw anger there, “You know the future I find the most appealing? One without the _need_ for suits. One where my son doesn’t have to be in the line of fire. And you’re just insisting on being stubborn about something that’s not going to happen.”

 

Peter gritted his teeth. His head, yep, it exploded…and his voice was venom, “So you’re okay with other peoples’ sons being in the line of fire but not me, right? I mean, you spent years building weapons that killed people all over the world and you’d probably be a little angry if one of those weapons killed me. But the second I want to help and give back and try to do something, that’s when the line is drawn. That’s the kind of legacy I’m getting here, and you won’t even let me try to fix it and you won’t let me protect you!”

 

“That’s _enough_ ,” Peter cringed, eyes shutting briefly as his dad’s voice carried up the stairs. His father walked towards him, and Peter stood still, face blanching a bit as his father stopped on the step below him. “I’m tired of hearing about this. You’re _thirteen_. The answer is no. Got it? It’s a _no_. And just for making me sit through that speech, all lab privileges are withdrawn. Go to residential, and eat something ‘cause I’m tired of Happy telling me you’ve skipped lunch.”

 

“I went to lunch,” Peter’s voice cracked. He _went_ to lunch. But Flash was always in the cafeteria and Peter just had to avoid it, like the plague. Because Flash was the worst and he didn’t want to be there. Peter stuttered, “I-I went to lunch. I’m just…”

 

“Go. And it better not be a Poptart.”

 

Peter let out a deep breath through his nose. Peter then turned on his heels and headed for the elevator to take it down.

 

Fine. Fine.

 

…

 

Peter ate a Poptart.

 

He also ate some leftover Thai, so he didn’t think he was really breaking the rules. Pepper left a few hours later, leaving for business in California and Peter was left alone in their housing suite. The sun set, Peter wondered what was going on in the labs, but he didn’t dare try to sneak back up. His father had been fuming and he just wasn’t in the fighting mood. He was too tired, and he had school in the morning.

 

 Peter spent the next three days, without lab privileges and mostly pacing around the apartment until his father would come home and Peter would pretend to already be asleep. It was always late. And his father always checked on him. He always heard the door shut.

 

There was something exhausting about having to tiptoe around each other, and he just really wanted to know what they were learning about the scepter. But then the night of the party crept up and Peter wasn’t exactly invited, considering it was adults and there was going to be drinking, but he went anyway, because it was just there in the tower and it seemed free to him. His father didn’t tell him no either way, his father hadn’t told him anything.

 

Still, out of habit, he snuck up there like it wasn’t allowed and skirted around, away from where his father was. When Peter arrived on the floor with the hordes of people, he noticed his father, Uncle Rhodey, and Thor close to the bar. Peter remained distant, backing away, only to bump into a much larger body than his own.

 

He whirled, seeing Steve there, and beside him was the Falcon…Sam Wilson, but Peter had only ever met him on very few occasions. Once or twice, specifically when he had come in for some kind of test. But then he had gone away and Peter had thought he was funny enough to leave a lasting impression on him.

 

“Well,” Steve laughed, steadying him, “Why do I get the feeling you’re not supposed to be up here?”

 

Peter looked back, and his father was still chatting. Peter hummed, “Well, I don’t exactly know if I’m not supposed to. The sneaking is just in case. But Thor kind of promised I could try to lift the hammer later so I feel like I was invited.”

 

Steve patted his shoulder, “Well, just hide behind me if the old man tries to send you to bed early.”

 

“That’s ironic,” Sam scoffed, “To hear you call someone ‘old man’.”

 

Steve narrowed his eyes, but the two men moved to the pool table. The party was a bit overwhelming in its core and Peter stayed with Cap for a lot of it. Mostly because he was the only adult that had offered to stand between him and his father. Though Peter wasn’t naïve enough to believe when it came down to the wire, Cap would still do it. His father was his father after all, and that was just the way it had to be.

 

He was going to talk to Nat and Doctor Banner at one point, but things seemed weird, so he walked off. Like a _deep conversation kind of weird_ and Peter was intruding. And he was sorry to do that, so instead he opted to climb up one of the platforms. Just to look over the party and at all the guests in the room. To take in what they were doing, milling around and what-not.

 

Peter sat down, his legs hanging over the side. He didn’t know what he wanted out of these people. What he wanted out of his father in particular. But it wasn’t good and he was just deeply…pained. He wanted to help them. He didn’t know what they wanted out of him, because nothing was right when he did it. His father built things constantly, but if Peter so much as touched a blaster or tried to build one he was scolded. He just wanted to _help_.

 

“Good thing it’s a Saturday. It’s past your bedtime.”

 

Peter’s head yanked back and he saw his father there. He was little-to-not surprised to see him because the odds of eventually bumping into him were enormous. Peter was just pleased he had made it so long without getting caught and if his father did end up forcing him to go to bed, the night was somewhat productive, even if he didn’t get to lift the hammer. Or try to at least.

 

“I haven’t had a bedtime since I was twelve, Dad,” Peter responded as the man walked over and sat beside him. It was their first conversation in three days, but Peter didn’t feel very angry anymore.

 

The man nodded. He was holding a glass of something and Peter eyed it warily. It was frowned upon for his father to drink. Especially Pepper, frowned upon it. But she wasn’t there and he didn’t seem completely out of it, so Peter didn’t comment. His dad asked, “Having fun?”

 

“Honestly?” Peter pressed his face to the railing, “It’s kinda boring.”

 

His father laughed, “Most of our parties are, kid. You’ll understand when you’re older.”

 

Peter felt a wound open. Festering. His cheeks burned, but not with anger. With a feeling of bleakness. It felt so long, before he’d be an adult. It felt so far away. He just couldn’t wrap his mind around all of it and nothing…no one listened. He thought, his father must have noticed the way his shoulders sagged, because the man sighed deeply, “Peter, there’s nothing wrong with being a kid.”

 

Peter swallowed thickly, “I just…feel so small.”

 

His father put a hand on the nape of his neck, squeezing comfortingly.

 

“That’s why you have me.”

 

Peter knew that…but who did his father have if Peter couldn’t help?

 

…

 

Peter didn’t get a chance to try and lift the hammer.

 

The thing Peter learned in just a matter of few minutes was this: Monsters were real. Not that Peter didn’t know this to be a fact already. The Hulk existed and as much as he loved Bruce Banner, he also knew there was no getting past the fact that the Hulk was a huge beast. However, this monster, different in every way, was invisible almost. No body, as Thor had thrown his hammer into it and it had shattered, but the monster was still out there. Had threatened the earth’s very existence.

 

And his father had helped create that.

 

Peter didn’t know that though when he had gotten knocked across the room by one of the machines that were wreaking havoc on the tower. He didn’t know that when he was cut on his elbow by glass. He didn’t know that when the monster – Ultron – erupted into pieces on the floor because of Thor, and then flitted away, out into the world.

 

Peter didn’t _know_.

 

His father was staring at what remained of the shattered pieces, the lab stuck in a never ending quiet that felt like a burial ground. Peter’s hands were still shaking, as he stood beside his father, looking up at him. Clint had put a bandage on his elbow and the cut hadn’t been deep enough to be worried about, and besides, there were more pressing matters than a scrape from glass. Peter felt like glass. Inside.

 

“All our work is gone. Ultron cleared out, used the internet as an escape hatch,” Doctor Banner’s voice filtered in Peter’s ears, but his brain wouldn’t make sense of it.

 

Ultron…Ultron…Ultron…Just a dream, his father’s dream, and the mention of him had been in vague passing. A theory. A wish. But Ultron was crawling around, no strings, and Peter wanted to ask what went on, but his mouth felt dry.

 

Agent Hill was picking glass from her foot and Uncle Rhodey was holding his arm. They were both speaking, speaking about the potential of nuclear codes being hacked, but Peter’s father was still saying nothing. Peter expected more, mostly because his father and Doctor Banner had created Ultron. Pieced him together. It had been a dream of a dream and now it was a night terror. Peter couldn’t breathe, and his father barely moved when Peter grabbed the man’s sleeve. Didn’t look at him or acknowledge him.

 

The man stiffened under Peter’s hand when Clint said, “He also said he murdered someone.”

 

“There wasn’t anyone else in the building,” Agent Hill argued.

 

Then his father was moving, stepping away from Peter and Peter had to move aside to make room while his dad went to the center. He brought up the orange remnants of what Peter knew to be Jarvis as he said, “Yes there was.”

 

Ice. Peter felt so cold, the gravity of the situation settling into faces of understanding and horror. Peter whispered under his breath, “He tore him apart.”

 

Jarvis was an AI. But an AI Peter had once believed lived in the roof. So, the sadness was there, and Peter was just…he wondered if it was odd to be sad about an AI.

 

“Jarvis was the first line of defense,” Cap said, “He would’ve shut Ultron down, it makes sense.”

 

Doctor Banner shook his head, his arms held outward, “No, Ultron could have assimilated Jarvis. This isn’t strategy…this is rage.”

 

Peter thought, Doctor Banner would know rage better than anyone. The boy looked over at the sound of footsteps and suddenly Thor appeared, Peter figured having returned from the chase with the legionnaire. The god’s face looked enraged though, and Peter’s heart leapt into his throat when his father was suddenly grabbed by the throat and lifted slightly off the ground. Clint muttered behind Peter, “It’s going around.”

 

“Come on buddy use your words.”

 

“I have more than enough words to describe you, Stark.”

 

Peter surged forward, mind blanking into bright white anger as he did so, slamming both hands into Thor’s back. The man glanced at him, his face slightly surprised by Peter’s actions. Peter’s lip was trembling, but he glared upward, eyes burning as he screamed, “Stop! Let go of him!”

 

Thor dropped Peter’s father just as soon as he had lifted him, stepping back to allow Peter to surge towards his father. His father had stumbled slightly, and Peter grabbed onto him, holding tightly to the man’s arm as he stood beside him. As if he was going to protect Iron Man, but he would if he had to. He’d fight Thor if he had to, to get him away. His father was breathing heavily, and the man looked at him like he was sorry, so sorry Peter had to watch and Peter thought Thor should be sorry. Despite his father having built the bot it just…It wasn’t his intention to –

 

“Pete, go down to the apartment.”

 

His father’s voice was quick and Peter knew he was being dismissed because maybe the man had realized this was going to be an interpersonal issue that Peter shouldn’t be around for. Like the fights between his father and Pepper, when Peter was sent to do something else while they angrily bickered back and forth. Peter looked up, eyes wide and jaw dropping. He didn’t want to leave his father. At that point, he felt like he was the only one on his side. Peter started shaking his head, but his father started nodding.

 

“No…No, no, no,” Peter argued as his father continued to say ‘yes’ at the same time.

 

“Go down to the apartment,” His father repeated, voice lower, sharper. Peter almost flinched. Almost. His dad was pushing him towards the door and Peter couldn’t find the right words or the right argument to be able to stay. He just didn’t want to leave his father.

 

“Dad please,” Peter’s voice cracked as he whispered vehemently, “They’re…they’re – “

 

His dad shook his head, “They’re not going to hurt me.”

 

He couldn’t really believe that. Peter being sent away was proof of that. His father knew it was a hostile situation and Peter was in the way if something happened and Peter didn’t want to _go_.

 

“But Thor just – “

 

His father put a hand on top of his head, smoothing his hair down as he pushed, “I’m fine, but there’s a lot we’ve got to figure out, and I can’t have you here while we do that. Do you understand?”

 

“No,” Peter ground his teeth, “I _never_ understand.”

 

His father shushed him. Not with force, more so with reassurance, just quietly enough so the others wouldn’t hear. And Peter was sent away, sent to be a kid in a confused frightened apartment that was empty.

 

Peter was Peter, and there they were.

 

…

 

Peter was woken up Sunday morning at the crack of dawn, with his father pulling him into a sitting position on the bed, gripping his upper arms.

 

“Pete,” His dad’s voice filtered in, “Gotta wake up, buddy.”

 

He blinked blearily, trying to get his eyes to focus. Rubbing his face with the palms of his hands, Peter was eventually able to assess that his father was sitting beside him on the bed, fully dressed and ready for…something. Peter glanced out the window, the burn of the morning sky filtering in like an orange flame. His father’s hand grabbed his face softly, turning it to face him once more, mouth in a line and eyes serious. Peter felt nauseous suddenly.

 

Peter croaked, “What’s happening?”

 

“I’m leaving,” And Peter’s chest tightened, “With the Avengers, of course. We found something and we’re going to deal with it. A lead to follow at least, and you know how hard those are to come by, especially with murder bots.”

 

His dad was making jokes, but Peter couldn’t laugh. He just stared at his father, eyes wide and confused. His father had only just gotten back and the anxiety each mission induced in Peter was almost crippling. Especially after the night before. _Especially_ after Thor had grabbed his father by the throat and everyone had looked at his dad like he was the worst person imaginable.

 

Peter’s eyes watered, more so than they had the night before, tears managing to slip through. He sucked in a deep breath, stiffening his lip as he father squeezed his shoulder tightly, whispering, “Hey, hey…what’s up? This is just a normal mission.”

 

“No, it’s not,” Peter’s voice cracked, and he almost cringed. One of the bad things about being thirteen, he couldn’t even control how he sounded, “I saw that thing last night. I heard what he was saying about you and the world and the Avengers. He _hates_ you, he has a-a vendetta against you and he’s going to – “

 

His father cut in, “We’re not going to let it get that far.”

 

“Stop interrupting me,” Peter argued, and his father looked taken aback by the sudden fierceness in Peter’s weepy voice, “This isn’t about whether you guys will _let_ it get that far or not, it’s about how far he’s _capable_ of getting.”

 

The man sighed, “God…you sound like Pepper.”

 

“Well, she’s usually right.”

 

“That she is,” His father agreed, “But this is something I have to do.”

 

Peter knew that no amount of arguing was going to stop his father from leaving. So, he did. After a brief kiss on the side of his head and a hug, the man was gone to search for a man named Ulysses Klaue while Peter was left to wait for Pepper to return home from her trip, a silent tower beaconing. Peter went to the lab and tinkered, working on his blaster despite his father’s scolding.

 

If his father could build a murder bot, Peter could build a blaster.

 

…

 

Things progressively got worse from there.

 

For most of the day, Peter didn’t hear anything. It wasn’t until late that night, that he saw it on the news while in the living room with Pepper. Pepper had gotten a phone call from their publicist who told her to turn it on, and all Peter saw was the Hulk, raging through a South African city with his father. Tearing it apart, piece by piece and Pepper had covered her mouth with her hand and Peter had held his breath.

 

Hours passed, and his father wasn’t responding to any of their attempts at communication. Phone calls, text messages, nothing. It was all empty airspace and Peter could tell Pepper wanted to panic, but wouldn’t because Peter was there. As always, if Pepper panicked he panicked and he almost wished he hadn’t hidden Remy from himself months ago, when he had turned thirteen. Because the urge to have the stuffed animal there was kind of smothering. But Peter didn’t do that or resort to it.

 

Peter could see the pain in Pepper’s face. The anger but the worry too. Peter wondered if this was the life they were doomed to live. If loving Tony Stark just resulted in brief periods of grief and rage. Peter sure hoped not, but he had learned at a young age to brace for it. Ever since his father had told the world he was Iron Man. Maybe even before that, when his father had gotten trapped in that Afghan cave.

 

Peter felt so lonely sometimes.

 

But eventually, after waiting and waiting, the phone call came in. His father was apparently at some safe house and things were okay, and they were figuring out what to do about Ultron. Pepper had screamed her head off and Peter’s conversation was mostly just whispering that he understood why his father couldn’t come back yet, and sure logically he understood, but the childish part of him wanted to argue every step of the way.

 

Not much came of that until Monday at school, when, like an idiot he had gone to the cafeteria. It was an attempt to have lunch, just so Happy wouldn’t say anything. Just to keep everyone quiet, because there were greater things to worry about than the fact Peter ate Poptarts every day because he was too afraid to eat in the cafeteria.

 

But, like clockwork, Flash slammed his hand on the table down in front of Peter.

 

Before Peter or Ned even got the chance to say anything, Flash spoke, “So, saw that mess on the news this morning, Penis. That’s crazy that your dad and the Hulk basically leveled that whole city. My dad is saying they’re probably going to end up disbanding the Avengers after everything they’ve screwed up the past few months.”

 

“What do you want?” Ned asked. Even Ned hadn’t brought up the topic of Johannesburg for that very reason. Peter wrung his hands together and chewed the inside of his mouth as anger flared deep in his belly and he had to order it to settle.

 

“Was I talking to you, Leeds?” Flash asked, “No, I wasn’t. I was talking to Penis. But it looks like he’s going mute ‘cause he has nothing to say.

 

Peter muttered, “It’s none of your business.”

 

Flash scoffed, “What was that? None of my business? Hate to break it to you, but it’s kind of the entire world’s business. The Avengers are sort of known for flying in and destroying cities, I mean look at what happened here in New York.”

 

“That was aliens,” Ned interrupted.

 

“Whatever,” Flash snapped, “How long til they nuke someplace and leave everyone else to clean up the mess, huh Penis? Maybe you should ask your dad that.”

 

Peter looked down at the floor, biting the inside of his lip and his fingernails digging into his hands as he gripped them into tight fists. He just wanted to eat his lunch. He wanted Flash to go away. He wanted the cafeteria to stop being such a battle ground and he wanted his dad to come home. Flash leaned down, getting almost unbearably close as he said, “Or maybe your dad doesn’t give you the time of day. He’s an asshat, right? Self-centered. Isn’t that why he became Iron Man in the first place? To get all the recognition. I bet you probably only see him once in a blue moon, you _are_ his bastard kid–“

 

Peter didn’t hear the rest. He threw out one of his closed fists, connecting with Flash’s lip. Flash stumbled back, and Peter stood to his feet, Ned grabbing him by his wrist to stop him from advancing further. Peter’s eyes were blurred with angry tears and he realized he couldn’t remember ever intentionally punching a peer in the face before. Everything was shaking, the room was twisting and turning, and Peter vaguely realized when the cafeteria monitor was gabbing him by his collar and dragging him to the principal’s office.

 

They didn’t attempt to call his father, and because Pepper was in a meeting, Uncle Rhodey was called instead.

 

It was just luck that the man was still in New York. On any other day he would have been back at the airbase, and Peter almost cringed when Uncle Rhodey walked into the principal’s office and the principal explained that because Peter threw the first and _only_ punch, he would be suspended for the rest of the week and given several assignments to complete in the meantime to be turned in the next Monday. Uncle Rhodey was polite as always, and he nodded and smiled and Peter could have only imagine how his father would have handled the entire situation had he been able to come. Or even Pepper for that matter.

 

Uncle Rhodey didn’t speak to him directly until they were in the car together, and Peter was leaning towards the passenger door to stare out at the cars passing by. He felt Uncle Rhodey’s eyes on him and the man finally spoke, voice steady like the soldier he was…

 

“I talked to Happy,” Uncle Rhodey hummed, “He seems to think maybe this kid is why you haven’t been eating.”

 

Peter breathed, “I’ve been eating.”

 

“Poptarts don’t count. You’re avoiding the cafeteria because he’s there, right?”

 

Peter swallowed past the lump in his throat, before looking over at the man who had always been the most sensible among his adult figures. Not that Pepper wasn’t sensible, but she sometimes lost it on Peter’s father and Uncle Rhodey was almost always calm. Peter didn’t know how the man dealt with their dysfunctional family on a regular basis. Peter could barely deal with himself and his own actions.

 

“Yeah,” Peter said, “Flash is…he’s kind of an awful person.”

 

Uncle Rhodey chuckled, “Well, kiddo after that busted lip you gave him I have a feeling he’s not going to be so open with his attacks anymore. I think it’s safe to say you can eat in the cafeteria again.”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow, “Are you condoning violence, Uncle Rhodey?”

 

“Not at all,” Uncle Rhodey replied, “You’re still in trouble…but, I’m not above bullies getting what they deserve.”

 

Peter laughed, the first time genuinely in a few days.

 

…

 

His father came back, in the middle of the night. And Peter wouldn’t have even known if he hadn’t gone down to the lab to look for his blaster when he couldn’t sleep. The intention had just been to tinker. To waste time before he had to get up the next day and do his assigned school work. But the moment he entered, Clint was going downstairs and Peter was staring at Doctor Banner and his father in the lab.

 

“Dad?”

 

The man looked up, eyes widening a moment as Peter entered further, the boy’s focus trained on the giant object in the center of the room. But he continued forward, approaching his father and hugging him around his middle tightly, still distracted by what Doctor Banner was doing with the strange contraption. When he pulled away, he heard the man ask, “It’s a school night, why’re you up?”

 

“Long story,” Peter whispered, “What’s that? Where’ve you been?”

 

Doctor Banner answered before his father got the chance, “Just a slight problem.”

 

The man looked at Peter’s dad and he said, “I can work on tissue degeneration, if you can fry whatever operational system Cho implanted.”

 

“Yeah about that…” Peter’s father moved around towards the steps, going down to Doctor Banner’s level. Peter felt his heart rate spike at the panic on Doctor Banner’s face, and he realized whatever was in the machine was not something they needed to be playing with. And Doctor Banner knew that.

 

“No,” Doctor Banner snapped.

 

“You have to trust me.”

 

“Kinda don’t.”

 

His dad sighed, “Our ally? The guy protecting our nuclear codes? I found him.”

 

Peter watched in shock as his father brought up a hologram, and Peter recognized it almost immediately. The last time he had seen it, it was shattered into a million pieces. Murdered by Ultron. But now…it was together. It was Jarvis there, in the lab. His consciousness whole once more. Peter stepped forward and breathed, “Jarvis.”

 

“Hello, Peter,” Jarvis greeted, “And Doctor Banner.”

 

His dad explained, “Ultron didn't go after Jarvis cause he was angry. He attacked him because he was scared of what he can do. So, Jarvis went underground. Okay? Scattered, dumped his memory. But not his protocols. He didn't even know he was in there, until I pieced him together.

 

Doctor Banner looked slightly disturbed, “So you want me to help you put Jarvis into this thing?”

 

And Peter’s mind suddenly clicked, his gaze casting to the mechanics, the glowing screen, the diagram of the body. Peter felt his blood run cold at the thought, trying to make sense of what he was looking at, but it was a whole lot of nothing. Empty space. Peter’s throat was dry and he croaked, “That’s a body.”

 

Doctor Banner clearly didn’t want to do it. Was against it in every way shape or form, but Peter’s father insisted, and the man had a way of getting what he wanted. The boy’s limbs felt heavy and he couldn’t say anything as they bickered and yet began to work on moving Jarvis’ consciousness to the body within what his father referred to at the ‘cradle’. By the way they were rushing through the steps, and how nervous his father and Doctor Banner seemed to be, there was something wrong with what they were doing.

 

Something that wasn’t agreed on.

 

“Dad,” Peter muttered at one point, “Do the others not know you’re doing this?”

 

His father looked back at him, pausing what he was doing on the computer. Peter could tell he was on the verge of lying, but that he didn’t want to. Life sometimes ended up that way with his dad though, and the man spoke with too much confidence to be genuine, “It’s a group effort.”

 

But it was a lie. Because three figures appeared in the door suddenly, one being Cap. The man announced in a booming voice, “I’m only going to say this once.”

 

“How ‘bout nonce?” His father replied without missing a beat and Peter was pushed behind the man. Peter tried to look at the two strangers in the room. A guy with almost silver to white hair and a girl with dark makeup around her eyes. His father continued to stand in front of him though and Cap’s voice sounded louder than Peter had ever really heard it in the few years of knowing him personally.

 

“Shut it down!”

 

“Not gonna happen,” His dad said.

 

 “You don’t know what you’re doing,” Cap argued, voice returning to a calmer tone as he looked over at Doctor Banner.

 

Doctor Banner looked less than convinced, shaking his head back and forth as he pointed to the girl that had moved to stand beside Cap, her eyes holding a sort of…apology? Peter felt sorry for her suddenly, until Doctor Banner asked, “And you do? She’s not in your head?”

 

“I know you’re angry…” She started, her accent thick and her hand held out in a pacifistic manner.

 

“Oh, we’re way past that. I could choke the life out of you and never change a shade.”

 

Peter felt his chest tighten, jaw dropping slightly as he attempted to move from out behind his father. He had never heard Doctor Banner speak in such a way and the room was quickly becoming enveloped in a warm and seething rage. Peter’s movement drew the others to look at him, and Cap’s fierce expression softened, shoulders slackening somewhat. The two strangers looked more confused than anything. The guy with the odd hair color pointed at Peter and he questioned, “Is this one yours, Stark?”

 

The man grabbed Peter by his arm and pulled him back against his side, but said nothing. The stranger continued, “Might want to send him to bed. It’s going to get messy.”

 

No one had a chance to react as the stranger turned into a blur, flying through the room. He stopped suddenly, holding one of the wires in his hand that had been ripped from the cradle. Doctor Banner jumped back in shock and the hold on Peter’s arm tightened and he knew his father was on the verge of freaking out. Sending out a suit or something. The stranger threw down the wire and he questioned, “Alright…we were saying?”

 

A sound popped from below, and the glass beneath the man’s feet shattered suddenly, sending him plummeting into the lab underneath. Peter heard the girl scream frantically, “Pietro!”

 

The machine beeped in distress and Peter’s father released him, turning to one of the monitors as he said, “I’m rerouting the upload.”

 

Cap threw his shield, causing it to bounce dangerously close to them and Peter’s father grabbed his arm, shoving him to the ground underneath the desk before the glass shattered and one of his father’s gloves appeared in his hand. It blasted across the room, slamming into Cap’s chest and it sent him flying several feet behind him. The back of his suit arrived, landing on his dad and wrapping around him protectively. His father looked down at where Peter had been pushed under the console, his pupils wide and blown with adrenaline.

 

“Stay right there.”

 

“But – “ Peter gasped, “Dad, _stop_ , okay, stop…you guys don’t need to fight.”

 

The front of his chest plate arrived just in time for Cap to find his bearings and jump into the air, bringing a punch down just as his father’s chest sent out a blast. Both his father and Cap were thrown backward, his dad going through one of the many glass windows and shattering upon impact. Peter’s stomach churned, and he rushed from under the table, down towards where his father was trying to scrape himself up. Being careful of the glass, Peter latched onto his dad’s wrist, holding tightly as he sat forward, breathing heavily from the blow.

 

His dad stumbled upward, Peter doing his best to help him, and the glass crunched under both of their feet. They didn’t notice someone else had entered until there was a loud shout from Banner ordering, “Wait!” And lightning erupted through the room, the glow bouncing off their faces as both he and his father gasped quietly. Thor stood there now, on top of the cradle, shooting electricity through his hammer and into the object.

 

Peter covered his ears when the explosion ripped through the lab, Thor busting into the lightbulbs before landing face first into the floor. Everyone ducked, and Peter breathed…

 

Vision was born from the cradle that night.

 

…

 

Peter had never heard of Sokovia or paid it any attention until he realized his father might die there. Until the first mission several days ago that had _sent_ him there.

 

He of course, wasn’t allowed to go.

 

Peter wondered why soldiers leaving for war was such a widely admired movie trope. The real thing was so much worse.

 

Peter wished he could say sorry to the citizens in that city. He never wished New York on anyone.

 

…

 

His father came home in the early hours. Peter was awake, waiting for him to fly in. To arrive after the war that had become much more than any of them imagined. The city falling from the sky. And Peter was there, there to greet him. Eyes blurred when he saw his father glowing on the horizon and more so when he finally landed. But Peter didn’t cry. He was too old to cry.

 

His dad came home. Doctor Banner and the stranger who could run faster than Peter could see did not.

 

The suit peeled away, and his father was there, skin breathing in the morning sunlight and Peter hugged him tightly. They always shared that same hug, the one when his father was gone, doing the things he did, and when he finally came home. It made Peter’s impatience for growing up worse, because he wouldn’t have to worry so much if he could just be in the battle with his dad. If he could stand beside him.

 

He’d fight alongside his dad one day.

 

An entire day passed, with just the two of them in the tower. His father made phone calls, as the old Stark Industries building upstate would be altered into the new Avengers Compound. But other than that, his dad sat with him. Peter told him about getting suspended and his father wasn’t even angry with him. Mostly because Peter assured him Uncle Rhodey had handled it all with the dignity and grace reserved for a pageant queen.

 

It wasn’t until the next day that they went to the compound. His father said it was a goodbye more than anything. They would be taking time away from the Avengers and as much as Peter loved all of them, he liked that idea. Peter desired and craved for it to just be himself, Tony, and Pepper for a little while. It made things feel much easier without their ‘dysfunctional’ family around twenty-four-seven.

 

Peter met the sister of the quick stranger that day. Wanda Maximoff. She said very little to Peter, though he supposed she was still somewhat recovering from her brother’s death and Peter couldn’t blame her.

 

But she had smiled softly at him and whispered, “You have your father’s eyes, you know? I can see the genius glittering there. Don’t waste it. You see things the way he does, but…you also see a light he doesn’t.”

 

Near the end of their visit, Peter followed his father, Cap, and Thor outside of the Compound to see Thor’s departure. Peter remained silent most of the conversation, not only because they were arguing about why Vision could lift the hammer, but also because Peter hadn’t completely forgiven Thor for grabbing his father around the throat.

 

Peter nearly flinched when Thor squeezed his father’s shoulder and said, “I’m going to miss these little talks of ours.”

 

“Well, not if you don’t leave,” His father argued, and they began to walk again. Peter wondered if his father even remembered being choked.

 

“I have no choice,” Thor explained, “The Mind Stone is the fourth of the Infinity Stones to show up in the last few years. That's not a coincidence. Someone has been playing an intricate game and has made pawns of us. But once all these pieces are in position...”

 

“Triple Yahtzee?”

 

Cap shook his head, “You think you can find out what’s coming?”

 

“I do,” Thor smacked Peter’s father on the chest, “Besides this one, there’s nothing that can’t be explained.”

 

Thor turned to Peter, smiling. Peter swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to shrink as Thor kneeled in front of him, reaching up to grab his shoulder and squeeze, much like he had done to his father inside. Peter blinked several times as Thor spoke, “I do believe I owe you an apology, Starkson. For my behavior a few nights passed. I do hope you can find it in your heart to offer me your forgiveness for losing my temper with your father.”

 

Peter glanced at his dad, who was smirking slightly at the two of them. Obviously his father forgave Thor and Peter breathed deeply…

 

“It’s alright.”

 

Thor grinned, toothy and wide and he patted Peter’s shoulder almost a bit too roughly as he stood. The light appeared, and Peter watched in amazement as the god dissipated, leaving only a mark in the grass behind.

 

 He and his father only actually left after his father mentioned building a farm. Peter was not the farm type. Through and through he was a New Yorker. But he didn’t argue as they piled into the vehicle, waving goodbye to Cap. It was one of the cars Pepper hated Peter riding in, which was the case with almost all of his father’s sports cars.

 

It was only when they were alone that Peter whispered, “I’m gonna miss them.”

 

His dad nodded, “Me too, kid. But we’ll visit when we can.”

 

Peter sighed, sounding almost afraid, “Are you really gonna build a farm?”

 

A loud cackle escaped his dad and Peter smiled a bit. It was real, that time. It was sort of rare to hear it, whenever his father spent so much time not sleeping and trying to avoid the drinks that floated around occasionally. The drinks Peter hadn’t started to notice until a few months before. His dad shook his head finally, gathering his bearings, “Do you want one?”

 

“Maybe a farm dog,” Peter shrugged.

 

“Ha…Pepper’s head would explode.”

 

“Then maybe a farm…fish.”

 

Peter paused before continuing, “We’ll all get to be together now, right? You’re gonna take a break?”

 

“I’m gonna cut back,” His father assured.

 

But the uncertainty was there. It was usually there, and Peter wasn’t surprised in the slightest to hear it. It sounded like he was going to _try_ and for the time being, that was all Peter could ask for. A father that tried to keep them together.

 

Peter hummed, turning to look out the window as they made their way back to the city.


	6. The Bite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So I had intended for this chapter to be Civil War, but when I started writing about Peter's bite I realized how long of a chapter it would be, so I just decided to make it a chapter on its own. So that means there will be nine chapters instead of eight. I hope you guys enjoy, let me know what you think! I love you all, and thank you for such wonderful responses so far!

_December 2015_

“Kid, we’re late! You know, this’ll be your sixth tardy and it’s only your first semester!”

 

Peter tripped, trying to get his other sock on, his pencil held between his teeth as he hit the ground and spat it out, rolling over to slip it on. He groaned, frustrated as he then pushed himself back to his feet and threw his pencil and notebooks into his backpack before putting on his sneakers and running to his bedroom door where Happy was standing, his face red with anger. Happy stopped him with a hand on his chest and snapped, “Get a jacket, it’s friggin’ snowing out there, c’mon!”

 

“You’re the one telling me to hurry,” Peter argued, running to his desk chair and grabbing his coat where it was left laying over the back.

 

Happy replied, “Yeah, because if you’re late for school again, I’m going to get the blame, even though you’re the one that can’t get out of bed on time. Get your ass in gear. Lobby. Now. Go.”

 

Peter groaned, but ran nonetheless, to the elevator of the tower. Happy followed behind and they took the elevator down before eventually making it to the vehicle where it was parked out front. The cold morning air hit Peter like a ton of bricks and he slipped into the car, cocooned in its warmth as he clicked his seatbelt and readied for the morning traffic. Happy grumbled under his breath, “Christ, I can’t wait for you to be sixteen, then you can drive yourself to school.”

 

“Dad is never going to let me drive, Happy,” Peter rolled his eyes.

 

There was a pause, then, “You’re right, not after you hit that fire-hydrant when I let you drive us around the block. Ridiculous.”

 

“That squirrel came outta nowhere.”

 

“So, you crashed a Rolls Royce to avoid a rodent,” Happy huffed, “Your logic is so flawed sometimes it makes me want to have a heart attack.”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow, “Well, with that cardiogram I wouldn’t be surprised.”

 

“God that was scary,” Happy muttered, “Sounded like Tony was in the back seat for a second.”

 

Peter shook his head, looking out the window as the fresh snow began to fall over the city. Despite it being early December, the city was already coated in the stuff. Thanksgiving had been white instead of orange and Peter supposed Christmas would probably end up being the same, along with New Year’s and maybe even Valentine’s Day. It just seemed like it had been cold for forever and Peter hated it so much. It made his fingers ache and his toes numb.

 

They pulled into the school just as the bell rang and Peter jumped out of the car, shooting a brief goodbye to Happy in the process. He trotted up the several steps into Midtown High, running down the hallway to his first period class and just as the tardy bell sounded, Peter was slipping through the door and plopping down in his seat beside Ned.

 

“Dude,” Ned whispered, “You barely made that.”

 

Peter nodded in agreement, “Barely. I overslept. I stayed up forever studying for this history test.”

 

Ned raised an eyebrow at him and Peter frowned in confusion. Ned looked at the teacher in the front of the classroom and Peter noticed several students bringing papers up to her. Peter looked at Ned and asked, “Oh shit, did we have homework?”

 

“No,” Ned held up a piece of paper he also had, “It’s our permission slip. Remember, Mrs. Carlyle moved the test to next week because we have that field trip to Oscorp?”

 

Peter stared at the paper, realizing it had Ned’s mother’s signature scrawled across it. Peter grabbed both sides of his head, gripping his hair tightly as he shut his eyes, groaning, “I forgot.”

 

When he opened his eyes, Ned had put the paper down and he questioned, “Did you at least get it signed?”

 

“No,” Peter leaned down, beginning to dig through his backpack before he pulled out the rumpled piece of paper. It was blank of any signature and Peter went on, “I forgot to even ask Dad about it – I was so freaking worried about this stupid test – Christ…Uh…”

 

Peter dug out a pen, and paused with it hovering over the signature line. Ned’s jaw dropped, and he hissed, “What’re you doing?”

 

“I’m not gonna miss a field trip to Oscorp, dude!” Peter replied, shrieking, yet whispering as he did so, so Mrs. Carlyle wouldn’t be able to hear, “I’ll just…I’ll sign it and my dad doesn’t have to know. It’s not even a big deal, people sign stuff for their parents all the time.”

 

Ned shook his head, “It’s forging a signature and I’m pretty sure it’s illegal.”

 

“He’s my dad,” Peter rolled his eyes, beginning to sign it himself. It only took a few seconds to get it done considering he had seen his father sign several things in his life. It was nothing odd or new, but if Peter was being honest, it was the first thing he had ever signed in his father’s name. He stared at the signature, seemingly satisfied before he stood, and Ned did as well to go turn it into the teacher.

 

Ned muttered to him as they approached, “You’re dead if he finds out.”

 

“Well, he’s not gonna find out,” Peter replied.

 

They both handed their permission slips over and headed back to their desks. Not even fifteen minutes later they were being lined up and marched to the school buses waiting for them outside. Peter stood in front of Ned, glancing back briefly and fighting the urge to laugh. Being fourteen and afraid of forging his dad’s signature. Kids their age did much worse, and still, a bit of guilt melted into him, but he pushed it aside. It was _funny_.

 

Peter reached out to climb onto the bus, only to be shoved back as someone skipped in front of him. Peter stumbled back into Ned, blinking several times before he realized it was Flash cackling at him. Peter was then pushed forward, along with Ned, and as they looked back Peter processed that a girl he vaguely knew from Algebra had shoved Ned for stepping back into her. Michelle, he thought was her name.

 

“Watch it,” She ordered sharply.

 

Peter turned back to where Flash was still laughing at him and Flash said, “Stop stepping on girls’ toes, Penis.”

 

He then disappeared onto the bus and Peter wished suddenly he hadn’t signed that permission slip. He climbed on anyway and he and Ned took a seat close to the back, just to avoid having Flash behind them because they both knew the consequences of that would result in spit balls to the back of their necks. Peter slumped down in his seat, face burning slightly, but he fought it down just enough to be excited for the field trip. The thing about Oscorp was that it was uncharted territory. Peter had never gotten the chance to tour it considering his father didn’t agree with what Oscorp did. Practicing genetic manipulation and all that just sat wrong with Peter’s dad, and therefore Peter had been deprived of the facility.

 

It was probably better he had forgotten to ask his dad anyway.

 

It was kind of cold on the bus until the heater began to spread throughout and all the students had piled on, close together. Peter folded his hands into his lap, rubbing them as he tried to warm the numbness out. Ned spoke from beside him, “I hope we see a mutated rat.”

 

“I don’t think they’ll have that on display for students,” Peter continued to stare out the window.

 

“I bet they’ve got something like that,” Ned gushed, “Maybe some mildly mutated rats?”

 

Peter smirked, “What constitutes as mildly mutated?”

 

“Like…” Ned paused, thinking, hard, “Like a rat but with a lizard tail.”

 

Peter’s face scrunched, “I don’t like that.”

 

“I like it. I like it a lot.”

 

He fought the urge to cackle, covering his mouth with his hand, “You’re so weird. You know what I wanna see? Their labs. I’m sure it doesn’t beat the tower by a long shot, but I wanna see what we’re competing against, you know? There must be something interesting about them if Dad takes the time to keep up with what they’re doing and producing.”

 

“Well, Oscorp has a technological division, right?” Ned questioned, “That’s probably what he keeps up with. It’s all competitive and stuff.”

 

Peter nodded in agreement, “Probably. But they’re really focused in on genetics. And my mom and step dad were geneticists. So I think it’d be cool to look into.”

 

“Your dad would freak if you decided to do genetics,” Ned scoffed.

 

Peter laughed, “He would…probably. But, I’m more into physics anyway.”

 

“Nerds!” Flash called from a few seats up, “Shut up, I can’t hear myself think!”

 

Ned rolled his eyes, “There’s probably not enough going on in there to listen to.”

 

Flash looked like he wanted to get up, but Mrs. Carlyle looked back at that moment and Flash fell back against his seat, glaring before he mouthed, “You’re dead.” Peter slouched further into his seat, despite knowing most of Flash’s threats were empty and beyond much capability of coming true. Still, Peter didn’t like confrontation and that was all it ever was with Flash. Ever since he had punched him in eighth grade though, the other teen had dialed down his verbal attacks to a minimum.

 

It was several minutes later that they pulled into the parking lot of the giant skyscraper with ‘Oscorp’ in large green letters down the side. It appeared to be mostly glass, remarkably similar to the tower in many ways and Peter always wondered which came first. Maybe one day he’d google it, but he had a feeling Oscorp’s skyscraper had made its appearance before Stark Tower and the eventual Avengers Tower.

 

They were lined up outside of the bus, all of them given nametags before being brought up the stairs into the building. They looked around, amazed, and Peter thought that was probably the good thing about going to a science school. His fellow students could appreciate great technology when they saw it. The lobby was sleek, mostly greys and whites, with giant screens on almost every wall. Peter was prepared to compare it to the tower, but in all honesty, it was completely different. Not in a bad sort of way either.

 

“Okay, everyone together please!” Mrs. Carlyle ordered and they all crowded around each other. Peter and Ned smiled, and a middle-aged woman in a white lab coat approached with a clipboard in hand. She gave a warm greeting to the group, and explained that she was their tour guide and her name was Torrance.

 

They all herded up the stairs together, Peter making sure to stay close to the back with Ned as a way to keep out of Flash’s vision. They started on the fifth floor, since the first floor was mostly laid out for tourists and visitors, while the second through fourth floors were for business groups such as Human Resources and finances. The fifth floor began the laboratories and research departments and Peter felt a bit of a flutter from excitement.

 

The labs themselves were extraordinary and could certainly compete with that of Stark Industries. They weren’t allowed to enter them, mostly because the scientists were working, and the tours didn’t usually get to go inside anyway for safety reasons. But most of the labs were observable through the glass walls.

 

“I don’t see any mutated rats,” Ned muttered, sounding almost disappointed.

 

Peter rolled his eyes, and smirked as they continued on. They saw the technological floors first, but the higher they moved, the further they got into genetics and biological research. That stemmed into Peter’s curiosity, because growing up with an engineer for a father, the man rarely delved into the world of biology. His dad was more machine oriented, but Peter knew his mother and step father had enjoyed the world of genetics and he felt almost guilty that he hadn’t been exposed to it as much.

 

They stopped in front of one of the labs, observing several rats in cages. Peter heard Michelle Jones’ voice somewhere up-front snap violently, “I knew they did animal testing here. That’s awful.”

 

‘Torrance’ assured that the animals were treated humanely, but Michelle didn’t seem very convinced of that. She continued to argue vehemently and Peter turned away awkwardly, glancing down the hallway. His eyes narrowed, watching as a man in a white coat exited one of the rooms, the room emitted an odd blue-purple glow. Peter tilted his head, looking at the group and then back at the door. Peter whispered to Ned, “What do you think is in there?”

 

Ned, who had been listening intently to Michelle’s voice that was growing louder by the moment, looked at where Peter was pointing. He shrugged slightly before saying, “No clue, we skipped that room, didn’t we? Doesn’t look like an observational lab.”

 

Peter moved towards it, causing Ned to let out a surprised sound. He was just going to look though, and Michelle’s rant had the entire tour stopped anyway for the time being. Peter had only known the girl for a few months, since his freshman year had started in September at Midtown, but he knew her well enough now from a distance to know she was not one to argue with. And Torrance was doing so, bravely.

 

Peter stood on his toes, peering through the small glass window into the room. Ned stopped beside him, hissing, “What’re you doing?”

 

“Just looking,” Peter shrugged. The room was in fact glowing a blue-purple color, but Peter couldn’t make out much else. He pushed himself away, deciding it was nothing interesting when his elbow hit the button beside the door, causing it to whoosh open with a puff of air.

 

Both Peter and Ned jumped back, blinking in surprise. Peter shot another look at their tour group before he smirked at Ned. Ned shook his head back and forth and Peter stepped forward, only for his friend to grab him by the wrist and try to pull him back, whispering, “No, you are not going in there.”

 

“Oh c’mooon,” Peter argued, “I’ll just be a second. You can come with me – “

 

“I’m not going in there.”

 

Peter pouted, “Fine. Then keep watch.”

 

Ned started to shake his head again, but Peter quickly pulled away, slipping into the room. The door slid shut behind him, and Ned pressed himself to the window while Peter looked at him, shooting a thumbs up, but Ned looked terrified. Peter then whirled around, facing the glowing room, his white trimmed jacket glowing like he was in an arcade. Peter’s eyes finally adjusted to the lighting and when they did, he immediately regretted entering the room.

 

Spiders.

 

Spiders. _Everywhere_.

 

They weren’t roaming freely. In fact, each of them were in glass cases built into the walls. But Peter still felt extremely squeamish as he walked along, almost like a zoo, and looked inside each tank. In them were webs, thick and glowing from the lights. Peter didn’t think he had ever seen so many spiders before in his life, stopping in front of the case with a giant arachnid inside, with fuzzy legs and countless eyes.

 

“Hey there,” Peter chuckled nervously, “You look…well, freaky, but kinda cool.”

 

He put his finger on the glass, and the spider pressed its own legs against it. He tilted his head, laughing incredulously, as if the spider could understand what they were doing. Peter had a vague memory of the movie ‘Planet of the Apes’ and he imagined what it would be like with spiders instead. He lowered his hand slowly, opening his mouth as if to say more, but something on the back of his neck, just below his shirt, caught his attention.

 

 It was light at first, like a gentle crawl, until it wasn’t. Suddenly, it felt like a sting, sharp, burning and Peter reacted instinctively, swatting and squashing the assailant. When he pulled his hand back, he nearly gagged at the sight of the spider carcass on his hand. He shook it off, groaning as the pain continued to shoot up and down his neck, reaching behind his collar and pressing down gently where the creature had apparently bitten him.

 

Peter looked at the spider in the case. He hoped they weren’t ‘friends’ and he whispered, “Sorry you had to see that.”

 

He had never been bitten by a spider before…but it certainly didn’t feel good.

 

…

 

“Dude…are you alright?”

 

Ned’s voice came out low and concerned. Peter blinked from where he was sitting in the cafeteria of Oscorp at the lunch tables set up for employees, but it was where their tour group had stopped to eat before they planned to head back to the school. Peter shook his head and croaked, his throat feeling slightly scratchy, “Yeah, why?”

 

“You look really pale,” Ned replied, “And you’re like…sweating. Are you sure you’re okay?”

 

Peter looked down at the ground. Now that Ned mentioned it, his body did feel rather achy and his palms were clammy. Blinking several times, Peter shrugged slightly before muttering, “I dunno, I felt fine earlier. But I’m kinda…I dunno…”

 

Ned sighed, “If you’re getting the flu, don’t touch me. I bet you got some kind of disease from that spider room.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes, but then paused. He pressed a hand to the back of his neck again, feeling a slight bump. But it wasn’t particularly painful, and it wasn’t like his skin was starting to eat itself like one would expect from a brown recluse or something. He just felt feverish, and Ned would totally freak out if Peter told him he had gotten bit by a spider.

 

“I’m fine,” Peter waved it off, “I’m sure it’s just a head-cold or something, you know? It’s been a cold autumn and winter so far. I probably just need to sleep when I get home since I stayed up so late.”

 

Ned pushed his crackers towards him, “Here, eat some of those. You haven’t even touched your sandwich.”

 

Peter nodded, picking up a few of the crackers and nibbling on them.

 

Not the most fun he has had on a field trip before.

 

…

 

The rest of the day was sort of like a torturous battle with himself. He debated on calling his father to come get him from school early, but he didn’t want to have to explain the entire field trip and especially not the fact that he had forged his father’s signature to be able to go. So he kept the fact that he felt awful to himself, and especially the spider bite. The last thing he needed was to get grounded, especially when he was _still_ trying to settle into high school.

 

Peter didn’t say much to Happy in the car on the ride home, and it was apparent that the bodyguard knew something was up by all the questions he kept asking. Peter had dark circles under his eyes, his skin almost glistening with sweat and white as a sheet by the time they got to the tower. The moment he was in the elevator, he leaned heavily against the wall and Happy pressed the button up to their residence.

 

Happy looked over at him, and grimaced, “Are you sick?”

 

Peter shook his head, his throat too sore to speak. A bad liar.

 

The man narrowed his eyes, but the elevator dinged in time to allow Peter to walk away. He entered the foyer, loud shouts echoing in from the kitchen and Peter’s brain couldn’t catch up with what was being said before he rounded the corner and standing in the kitchen area was his father and Pepper. Their faces appeared frustrated, angry with one another. Peter’s brows tugged together, and he pulled his coat tighter around himself as Happy walked in behind him and their mouths snapped shut, whatever argument they had been in the middle of thrown in the trash.

 

“Pete,” His father greeted, “How was school?”

 

Peter shrugged, voice coming out rough, “It was fine.”

 

He started making his way to his room, but Pepper broke his concentration of putting one foot in front of the other by questioning, the same as Happy, “Are you sick?”

 

Peter’s world whirled as he came to a sudden halt, turning to look at her. But the entire room was spinning like a top, and Peter blinked blearily, rubbing his eyes as he grabbed one of the barstools to steady himself. He shook his head back and forth, much like he had done to Happy in the elevator, but this time the movement made his equilibrium spaz out and Peter’s knees nearly sent him plummeting into the floor below.

 

Both his dad and Happy surged forward and his father grabbed him by his forearms while Happy gripped the back of his shirt. He let himself be lowered slowly to the ground and Peter muttered quietly, “I just need to sit down a minute.”

 

“What the hell?” His dad sounded like he was whispering, but it boomed into Peter’s ears like a trumpet. The boy flinched as his father pressed his hands on Peter’s cheeks and forehead and the man continued, “You have a fever.”

 

Peter shook his head and groaned, “Why are you yelling at me?”

 

“He’s not yelling, Pete,” Happy said, but he was yelling too.

 

Peter tried to piece together what was going on. He was definitely sitting on the kitchen floor, his father holding him in a sitting position. Happy was keeping his head from lulling back and at some point, Pepper had brought over a cold rag and pressed it to the back of his neck, just above where the spider had bitten him. Peter swallowed thickly and muttered, “I’m really tired.”

 

“Okay, just stay awake a few minutes,” His dad ordered, “Friday, scan him.”

 

His father was touching the side of his face, and he knew it was probably meant to be gentle, but it sort of hurt. Eventually, Happy let him lie back onto the floor, a throw pillow from the couch being set below his head. The ceiling – he had never noticed before – but it looked like a constellation.

 

Friday’s voice said from the sky – from the stars – from the roof where Jarvis had used to live –  but now he lived in Vision, “Peter seems to be experiencing symptoms of the flu. Elevated heart rate, high temperature, and sensitivity to sounds and brightness. I recommend fluids and rest.”

 

Peter heard Happy mutter something along the lines of: “It was so fast though. He was fine this morning.” Peter opened his mouth, the image of the body squashed into his hand flashing through his mind as he whispered, “I…I squashed him.”

 

“What?” This time Pepper sounded confused. Peter blinked up at the constellation some more, another cold rag being pressed to the front of his neck this time. His dad was saying something about calling a doctor and setting up an IV or something, but Peter didn’t really like the idea of being stuck with a needle at that moment. He was sinking into a cloud, and Peter couldn’t get the pain from his throat.

 

His father’s face got in the way of the constellation and the man’s mouth was pulled into a deep frown. Peter blinked at him heavily and greeted, “Hey.”

 

“Hey kiddo,” His dad said, “Don’t worry, we got this. We’re gonna get some fever reducers pumped into you and you’ll be fine in no time.”

 

Peter nodded. That sounded good. Being fine sounded good.

 

He rolled onto his side suddenly, head nearly falling into the marble floor of the kitchen from the pillow, but his father caught it quickly. The man cursed, ordering, “That doesn’t mean you can move, Peter. Lie still.”

 

“I’ve got…” Peter didn’t know what he had, but he had something to do, he was sure of it, “I’ve got uhh…I’ve got school stuff to do…I think.”

 

“No, lie still.”

 

Peter groaned as he was forced to roll back over.

 

God his dad was bossy.

 

“Just ‘cause you’re sick doesn’t mean I won’t ground you.”

 

Oh shit, had he said that out loud?

 

“Yes, you did.”

 

…

 

The next time Peter woke up, he could hear the snow falling.

 

He could hear the snow.

 

It tapped against his window, like gunshots and Peter held his hands over his ears and screamed. Someone turned the lights on in his room, and tried to touch him and everything was just loud and it hurt, _it hurt_ , and nothing would stop. Someone screamed, far away, maybe on the other side of Manhattan, he didn’t know, but it was all too much, and his body ached.

 

He opened his eyes and saw his father, before he was pulled into a tight embrace.

 

“It hurts!” Peter sobbed, “It hurts!”

 

“Shhhh,” His father’s voice soothed, “You just have a fever, buddy. It’s just a fever.”

 

But it wasn’t, it wasn’t.

 

He could _hear_ the snow.

 

…

 

Peter woke up again, this time a bit more coherent than the last time.

 

The snow wasn’t slamming into the glass of his window anymore. It didn’t sound like gunshots. But the world was indeed bright and things were certainly different. A more focused glaze and he could hear cars honking from below and he didn’t think he should have been able to hear such a thing. Still, weakness clung to him. He didn’t feel all there.

 

His mind was fogged over.

 

“There he is.”

 

Peter’s head snapped over and his father was there, sitting in a chair beside his bed. Peter watched as the man stood, moving onto the corner of the bed to sit closer to him. The fourteen-year-old shifted slightly, blinking up at the man as he tried to get his mind to catch up and his father put a hand on his forehead briefly before pulling away.

 

The man asked, “How’re you feeling?”

 

“Terrible,” Peter said weakly, “Like I just got run over.”

 

His dad chuckled quietly, but there was also an underlying tone…the exhaustion was evident as he humored, “Well, you’ve had a high fever for almost two days. You’ve basically been living in a fever dream.”

 

“Two days,” Peter echoed in amazement.

 

The man nodded, “Yep. Probably the flu. You tested negative, but that happens sometimes; I’m sure it was a false negative. All the symptoms were there, and the treatment kept you steady. I’m not surprised, you were bound to get it eventually. School kids are gross.”

 

Peter glared, rolling his eyes. His father pinched his cheek gently and hummed, “You gotta tell someone if you’re sick, kid.”

 

“I didn’t…know,” That was only partly a lie, “I felt okay a few hours before. It happened so fast.”

 

His dad didn’t say anything to that, and Peter thought he probably didn’t believe him. Despite seeing Doctor Weathering for over a year, there were still things that Peter struggled with and asking for help would always be one of those things. Peter wasn’t blind to it. It was just…the dreams of being an Avenger, the dreams of being bigger than himself and protecting his father…those were things he had been forced to bury within himself because being scolded for his actions had been too much at some point.

 

And then Ultron. And then a lot of things. _And then, and then, and then_.

 

“Well,” His father clapped his hands together and Peter flinched. It sounded so _loud_ , “I think we’re gonna keep you home the rest of the week. I’ll have the doctor send an excuse to the school and maybe we can have some of your homework sent over.”

 

Peter nodded his head and his father stood, beginning to move towards the door. Peter cleared his throat and called, “Dad?”

 

His father paused and turned back just as he was in the doorway. Peter pushed himself onto his elbows and against the headboard of the bed before continuing, “When I came in from school…and I was all sick and stuff…were you and Pepper fighting?”

 

The man put his hands in his pockets, and sighed, “The one sliver of consciousness you can hold onto and that’s what you choose?”

 

Peter swallowed, “You guys have been…doing that a lot.”

 

They had. Peter had noticed it. Since Ultron had happened and since his father had failed to cut back on handling Iron Man business…Things between him and Pepper had been weird. High strung. Every little thing seemed to lead to a fight now, and Peter didn’t have the heart to ask half the time what was happening and if it would always be that way from now on. From the look on his father’s face…it wasn’t letting up.

 

“Yeah, we were arguing,” His dad said, “Nothing to worry about, we got it sorted.”

 

_Or I got sick and it was pushed aside._

Peter couldn’t voice that thought out loud though, so he just smiled a little bit and nodded, and pretended to believe it. His dad then left the room and Peter shut his eyes, trying to block out the brightness. The loudness. The way the blanket was scratchy and it had never felt that way before.

 

…

 

Things got weird from there.

 

It started with the sink in his bathroom. He had twisted the handle and with a screech, it had ripped right off, like removing the cap from a pickle jar, just much easier. Then it has expanded from there. His bedroom door had been ripped from its hinges. He had crushed an apple with his bare hands, not to mention, he had run the mile in gym without breaking a sweat.

 

It was the verge of insanity.

 

An anomaly.

 

He knew things were going to happen before they did. Every time Flash tried to throw paper at the back of his head, a sharp tingling would course up his spine and Peter would whirl around just in time to catch it. Weeks went on like that, and Peter just couldn’t wrap his head around what was happening or _why_. The only thing he could tie it to was getting sick. The spider bite. A world and a difference and Peter was alone in the changes.

 

Peter had been bitten...and _things just kept_ _getting weirder_.

 

The noises that filtered into his room at night made it nearly impossible to sleep. Some nights he went without any, and just went to school exhausted. The world was suddenly too loud and bright for him and he couldn’t be a participant. Band was horrendous, the instruments making his head feel like it was ready to explode. The migraines that followed were blinding and Peter spent a lot of time in the nurse’s office, shoving ibuprofen down his throat.

 

It was on the third morning without sleep, week three of living in the world of broken door hinges that he was leaning over the kitchen counter, taking slow sips of his orange juice. His father had already left for breakfast with Pepper, one of many they had been having lately and Peter could practically feel the stiffness in the apartment when the two of them were together. It was almost enough to make his heart ache, but his mind was elsewhere with the loud city.

 

Peter took another sip, bringing the glass to his lips before his phone buzzed and Happy’s name appeared with a text saying **: Just pulled in. Be ready by the time I come up.**

The boy carried his glass towards the sink with the intention to rinse it out and go get his backpack from his bedroom. But as he tried to open his hand above the sink, he realized it wouldn’t release. His brows furrowed together, confusion making him frown as he attempted again, only to feel the thick stickiness there, same as before. Peter grunted, trying to use his other hand to peel it off, but it was fruitless, his hand refusing to open and _let go_.

 

“Shit,” Peter hissed, “C’mon, not now. Don’t do this to me.”

 

Of all the times for his weird… _mutation_ to rear its ugly head, Peter definitely didn’t want it to be then. Not when Happy was on his way up and would more than likely be screaming like a drill sergeant the moment he walked in. Peter tried shaking his hand madly, and still it didn’t go away, causing his heart to race and a rushing sound to fill his ears. The elevator in the foyer made a dinging sound and footsteps walked towards the kitchen, Happy’s voice booming, “Alright kid, where’re you!?”

 

Peter jumped, hand squeezing out of instinct and he felt the immediate sting of glass as the cup shattered below his grip. One of the shards sliced deeply, and Peter let out a startled shout, warmth sliding through his palm and he was finally able to open his hand as the shards clattered into the sink, along with his blood pooling. Happy appeared suddenly around the corner, face annoyed as he looked at Peter who was leaning heavily over the sink as he asked, “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“I-I,” Peter stuttered, but he felt sick to his stomach as Happy approached, leaning forward. As if smacked with a bat, Happy’s jaw dropped and he grabbed Peter’s wrist tightly in his hand and Peter didn’t pull away for fear it would be too strong of a yank. He didn’t know what was okay or not anymore in his movements and the world was spinning, pain shooting up and down his limb. He just wanted to throw up.

 

“What did you do?!” Happy shouted and Peter flinched, his ears ringing.

 

Peter whispered, eyes burning as Happy grabbed a rag and shoved it into his hand without any gentleness what-so-ever, “I-It just…it broke – “

 

“You broke it in your hand, what is the matter with you!?”

 

Peter’s lower lip trembled, and he shook his head back and forth, “Not on purpose, I didn’t mean to.”

 

“How do you just not mean to?” Happy’s tone was laced in anger as he removed the rag from Peter’s hand and inspected the wound before continuing, “Christ, I think you need stitches.”

 

Peter’s eyes widened, “Wh-what - ?”

 

“C’mon.”

 

“No, wait, Happy!” Peter shouted, but he was already being pulled to the elevator, the rag being shoved into his hand once more. But, again, he didn’t try to pull away, because if he pulled away Happy might feel the weird thing that was happening to him. He might feel the strength that Peter had never had before, and Peter did _not_ want that.

 

Peter was brought down to the car, and he barely got a word in over Happy’s grumbling and cursing before he was practically shoved into the back seat and the door was slammed behind him. The car felt suffocating, the smell of blood already filling his nose and Peter held his hand that was wrapped tightly in the soaked rag, eyes wide in shock at how he had gone from getting ready for school to riding towards the ER in just a matter of seconds.

 

“Happy,” Peter tried again a few moments later, fighting down nausea, “I’m alright. I think I just need some butterfly stitches and I can do that myself.”

 

“I’m not risking it,” Happy snapped, “If I don’t bring you in and your dad sees what you did, he’ll have my head on a platter.”

 

Peter argued, “I’ve got a math test – “

 

“Yeah, I had other stuff to do today too, but oh well, right?”

 

Peter felt his lip shake, his eyes going from wide to pained in just a few moments and he met Happy’s gaze in the rearview mirror. He wanted so badly to spill. To confess that it hadn’t been his fault, that he _couldn’t_ let go of the cup. His hands stuck to things now, random things, and he broke stuff without knowing how. He could run fast, faster than he had ever been able to run and it was just so…It was so…

 

“Sorry kid,” Happy surprised him, eyes meeting Peter’s pained ones in the mirror, “Sorry just…What _was_ that?”

 

Peter shook his head, “It just broke, Happy.”

 

He didn’t know why he didn’t tell him. Why he was keeping it a secret. Maybe some part of him was fascinated by it, but the terror was overwhelming sometimes. He didn’t know if something was seriously wrong with him and the past three weeks had been extremely bizarre.

 

The ride to the ER was mostly spent in an uncomfortable silence. He knew Happy had texted his father at one of the red lights, but Peter didn’t question whether or not his dad would be meeting them. If he even needed actual stitches, there more than likely wouldn’t be many and his dad was at that breakfast with Pepper and things were just so rocky between them, Peter just wanted them to be able to talk for a little while.

 

The smell of the ER was sickening, and Peter felt like he could hear every beep within the building on each and every monitor. Babies were crying along with adults and the walls felt so thin. Happy whispered something to one of the nurses though and they were immediately brought behind one of the curtains, and Peter was left to sit on the examination table while Happy stood nearby. The nurse left to find the doctor that was on duty without much conversation to the two of them. Peter could only guess his father had texted Happy the name of a doctor or something to avoid the ER wait.

 

Peter could hear through the curtain, the man next to them grumbling and angry and a woman was trying to pacify him. Peter didn’t think Happy heard it though, so he didn’t say anything. He didn’t want to make it obvious that he could hear them muttering under their breath. He instead kept his head low, keeping the rag to his wound to staunch what was left of blood flow. Happy stood with his phone in front of him, texting and eventually the man looked up at him.

 

“Your dad is on his way.”

 

Peter’s eyes widened, “Why’d you tell him? He was supposed to be having breakfast with Pepper and you know how things have been the past few months.”

 

“Trust me, the breakfast was over with.”

 

There was an underlying statement that Peter couldn’t quite grasp. His brows furrowed, hand flexing slightly and he opened his mouth to speak until the curtain was pulled back and a man in a white coat appeared. He smiled at Happy and held out a hand in greeting, “Mister Hogan, Jennifer said you had come in.”

 

There was no recognition in Happy’s eyes, but he shook the hand nonetheless and Peter thought Jennifer was either the nurse or the woman that had been at the front desk. The doctor continued, “I’m Doctor Prescott, I met Mister Stark several years ago; did some work during the New York crisis. I was surprised to hear from him.”

 

Ah, that explained it. Peter paid vague attention as the doctor introduced himself to Peter and took a look at his wound. The boy’s mind was elsewhere, listening as the man’s voice behind the other curtain progressively got more aggressive and the woman’s got more shaky. Peter could make out a bit of the conversation now, only flinching in the slightest as Doctor Prescott began to clean out his wound in order to get a better look.

 

_“Thomas please…please, just…the nurse will be back soon and they can fix your head – “_

_“Shut the fuck up! They’re taking too damned long!”_

_“You’ve had too much to drink, Tommy, calm down.”_

Peter swallowed thickly, eyes darting down to where Doctor Prescott was sitting on a stool in front of him as the man questioned, “That sound alright, Peter?”

 

“Huh?” Peter’s voice cracked and Happy’s eyes narrowed on him. Peter shook his head, “I’m s-sorry, I didn’t hear.”

 

“I said it looks like you’ll need about four stitches,” Doctor Prescott explained, smiling patiently, “I’ll inject the site with a numbing agent and you shouldn’t feel a thing. You’ll feel a bit of a burn when I inject it, but after that it’ll be smooth sailing.”

 

Peter nodded rapidly, the shouting becoming a bit louder. This time, Happy and the doctor seemed to notice, and Peter could hear the man’s voice moving out from behind the curtain and more than likely into the lobby area. The doctor’s face contorted into concern and he held up his index finger before pulling off his gloves and saying, “Get me a sec. Let me go make sure everything is okay.”

 

The doctor disappeared behind the curtain and Peter could hear the slurred voice of the man, Thomas, shouting outside their tiny room.

 

_“What the hell is taking so long! I’ve been here two hours and people are already coming in and out!”_

_“Sir, we’re moving as quickly as we can – “_

_“Tommy, please go back and sit down – I’m sorry ma’am…he had a few glasses of wine and I – Thomas stop!”_

Peter heard a crashing sound and Happy moved to the curtain immediately, pulling it aside. Peter stood as well, standing on his toes to peak over and outside into the lobby. There were two nurses there, along with the receptionist and Doctor Prescott. A woman in jeans and a blue t-shirt was standing close by, her face worried and her hand over her mouth as a giant man pushed at the nurses and Doctor Prescott viciously. He looked as big as Thor and Peter would have thought it was him if the hair color wasn’t wrong.

 

“Sir, sir, you need to calm down,” Doctor Prescott tried, stepping forward, and Peter flinched when the man’s fist connected with Doctor Prescott’s jaw and the doctor was sent plummeting into the floor. Peter felt a shock travel up his spine and Happy rushed outward, _of course_ , to try and intervene. The two nurses were struggling with the man’s arms and Happy went to grab him around the middle, only for the man to kick outward and hit Happy square in the gut.

 

Peter didn’t know what happened after that.

 

One moment he was standing in front of the curtain across the lobby.

 

And the next he was holding a metal hospital tray in his hands, standing over “Thomas’” unconscious form.

 

Everyone was staring at him. Not just the nurses, doctor, and Happy, but other people that had crowded in the lobby as well. His hand was bleeding again, disturbed by whatever he had done to ‘Thomas’, and Peter’s chest tightened in panic when one of the nurses kneeled beside the man, checking him over. The woman who was with the guy had begun to sob loudly and she looked at Peter, screaming, “Why’d you do that!?”

 

Peter shook his head, dropping the tray and it clattered to the floor as Happy took him by the arm and pulled him away from the woman and ‘Thomas’. Peter’s hands were trembling, blood dripping from his palm to the white-glaring floor. He looked down at them, then up at Happy, as if frightened of himself. And he was…his mind had completely blanked for a moment. Had he…?

 

“H-Happy?” Peter’s voice trembled, and he wrapped his arms around himself, distinctly aware he was bleeding on his clothes, “Did I…did I just...”

 

People were staring, mouths agape. Happy shook his head and pulled Peter towards the curtain.

 

“C’mon, kid. Let’s move.”

 

…

 

His father arrived twenty minutes later, five minutes after Peter’s stitches were finished and the man, Thomas, had been moved to a different floor to sober up.

 

Happy had explained to him what had happened when he had blacked out. Happy didn’t see the entire thing, the man had been reeling from his punch in the gut, but what he _had_ seen was Peter grab a metal tray from a nearby table, throw the syringes across the floor and slam the tray into the side of the drunk guy’s head. The guy was unconscious almost immediately, and Happy was having trouble wrapping his head around how a kid as scrawny as Peter could muster enough strength to take down a man over six feet tall.

 

Peter had an idea of how it was possible, but he said nothing.

 

Instead he sat on the examination table, hand wrapped so tightly he almost couldn’t wiggle his fingers. The moment his dad walked in, he felt a sense of relief flood him, knowing they were closer to going home and closer to getting out of the same building as ‘Thomas the tank’. Peter wouldn’t have to listen to Happy drone on about how unfathomable Peter’s retaliation had been and he could go home and lie down and pretend he hadn’t missed his math test.

 

His father said very little to him when he arrived, but Peter quickly figured out that had nothing to do with him. Something else was wrong, under the sunglasses, and his father was frowning. Peter assumed there had been another fight with Pepper and even after they had left the hospital together, his dad didn’t say much besides telling him to put on his seat belt. They were nearly ten minutes into the car ride when his dad questioned, “How’d you cut yourself?”

 

“Happy didn’t say…?” Peter whispered, looking over from the passenger seat. There was definitely something wrong with his dad. Typically, if something like this had happened – if Peter had attacked a guy with a metal tray – his father would have been drilling questions into him. But in that moment, he looked drained. Pale. Tired.

 

“He said you broke a glass,” His dad provided, “How’d you break a glass _through_ your hand?”

 

Peter swallowed thickly, “I squeezed too tight.”

 

If anything, that lit up more questions. But again – out of character – his father looked away. The man muttered, “Squeezed too tight.” As if musing on it. Considering it. Accepting it as the truth and _something_ had to be so wrong…Peter felt his stomach flutter with anxiety, but he couldn’t find the courage to ask, even as they parked and headed up to the apartment in the tower.

 

The moment they walked in though…his father grabbed him by his arm and gestured for the couches.

 

“Let’s…sit down a minute,” His dad said.

 

Peter swallowed thickly, almost certain it was something to do with the weird stuff. The bite. The man and the metal tray. He felt sick, but he nodded and went to the couch, sitting down slowly as his father sat across the coffee table from him, pressing his elbows to his knees. Peter picked at the thick wrapping on his hand, blinking rapidly, trying and trying to calm his racing heart. The room felt too warm suddenly. Too tight. He wanted to escape.

 

Peter broke the quiet, “Dad, is something wrong?”

 

His father sighed, plucking his sunglasses off, “Other than you slicing your hand open and knocking a belligerent drunk unconscious in a hospital ER…yes.”

 

Peter’s eyes burned.

 

It was coming, he knew it…His father knew…he knew…he had to know, he was Tony freaking Stark and Peter shouldn’t have even considered being able to hide this. He shouldn’t have believed he could –

 

“Pepper and I…broke things off today.”

 

That… _That_ was _not_ what Peter was expecting.

 

His jaw dropped, eyes bulging out of his head in shock. He let out a puff of air, as if he had been struck and Peter croaked, “What?”

 

“Yeah,” His father’s voice sounded solemn, but he was hiding it behind that same nonchalance that always made Pepper and Uncle Rhodey so angry. The pain that he shrouded, something like a mask, like Iron Man almost. False confidence as he went on, “Well, it’s been coming for a while now. Since the whole debacle with Ultron, you know. It was…needed I suppose, things just weren’t working out.”

 

Peter shook his head, eyes burning, “B-But, I don’t understand, I mean sure you guys argue but…but you care about one another.”

 

“We haven’t stopped caring about one another, Peter,” His father explained.

 

“Then you shouldn’t be breaking up!” His voice went slightly shrill, surprising even himself. He felt his heart raging out of his chest, full blown panic, and the burning in his eyes was definitely blurring over. It wasn’t fair…he didn’t want them to…He didn’t want…

 

His father looked a bit surprised as well and he held out a hand, “Listen…Just because two people care about each other doesn’t always mean they can be together. It’s just not a good time right now. Some things are gonna be different, but overall, you’re still gonna get to see her. She’s going to see you.”

 

“But it won’t be the _same_ ,” Peter croaked, “We won’t be a family anymore.”

 

His dad’s eyes softened, “Peter – ”

 

“Please don’t let her go,” Peter pleaded, interrupting, “Don’t let her leave us. Get her stay, Dad _please_.”

 

The man stood from his seat, moving closer and sitting on the edge of the coffee table as to be eye level with Peter. Peter watched the confliction behind the man’s eyes, the eyes they shared, as he scratched his five o’clock shadow. There were pieces, littering, begging Peter to understand, but he couldn’t. The world was so strange suddenly, and now this was changing too and Peter was grasping at an explanation.

 

His father folded his hands together, hunched over as if he had been kicked multiple times, “I can’t do that. _We_ can’t do that. But this also isn’t her fault.”

 

“You’re right,” Peter whispered, “It’s mine.”

 

His father looked taken aback, going from hunched to straight in a matter of seconds. The man shook his head back and forth, “What? No, Peter, why would you say that?”

 

Peter shoved himself to his feet, and his father grabbed him by his wrist to stop him from retreating, but the tears were too warm on his face and Peter didn’t want his dad to see him crying. He ducked his head, and pulled away, maybe a little too hard, because he was able to escape the grip too easily and rush down the hallway to his room.

 

He shut his door and locked it, sliding down to the floor and hugging his knees to his chest.

 

…

 

At 2:32 A.M. Peter had to pick the stitches out of his hand.

 

The wound had almost completely healed.

 

It was a bizarre and horrifying experience, to wake up to the dull pain of his body trying to expel the stitches into the bandages. It was even more so whenever he had to use scissors to cut them off the top layer of his skin where they had risen to the surface. Peter had nearly gone to wake his father, but due to the scary-thing that made him hear through walls, he could hear the clinking of the scotch glasses in the study and Peter didn’t think it was a good time to bring up his mutation.

 

He could hear his father pacing, pacing and pacing through the walls and Peter’s chest ached painfully. He stared down at his hand, taking in the lack of stitches and the healed wound, tilting his head slightly as he looked up at the wall in front of him. Peter reached out slowly, pressing his hands against it before pulling, finding himself stuck.

 

Peter brought the other hand higher, he stuck, and he pulled.

 

Higher. Stuck. Pulled.

 

Over and over again, and eventually Peter found himself hanging upside down, on the ceiling of his bathroom, the blood rushing to his head and drowning out the sound of his father’s pacing in the study for a moment.

 

Peter could hear the scotch glasses. The typing on his father’s laptop, the incessant buzzing of the fly stuck in the lightbulb. Another scream, far-far away into the city, maybe as far as Brooklyn or Queens. He felt the urge to go to it, to stop it, to put an end to it like he had done earlier in the ER.

 

Peter could hear the snow.


	7. Civil War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is long gahhhh!  
> So sorry this took me a while, guys! But I hope you guys enjoy the update! Thanks so much for reading so far and commenting you guys are all the sweetest, I love you! ❤

_May 2016_

When Peter had made the decision that he was going to dress up and swing around the city, protecting people, he hadn’t put much thought into the injuries that could result from such an endeavor.

 

He had watched his father, for years, risk life and limb to protect people. People they didn’t really even know. He had worried endlessly over him and what could happen if he wasn’t careful, but all of a sudden when Peter was in his shoes he had forgotten the risks. All he could consider were the rewards and the fact he had successfully finished his webshooters, webshooters that didn’t make him plummet three stories down into alleyways. He had perfected the formula in Doctor Banner’s old lab that had basically been closed up since his disappearance.

 

But again, the risks were there. Even though Peter was having a great time, flying through the sky and seeing how many summersaults he could muster, there was always the risk of people trying to kill him. And they did…every night that Peter went patrolling, people tried to kill him.

 

Queens wasn’t so violent though, and he had basically picked it because it had been his mother’s burrow. Also, it put some distance between himself and Manhattan, where his father and the tower was, and that distance provided some sense of security. His dad’s head would more than likely explode if he ever found out what Peter was doing, wearing goggles, stopping buses with his hands and trying not to die.

 

Which was what was happening, in the gas station bathroom he had broken into.

 

Being that it was nearly four in the morning, most places were closed and the cut on Peter’s side had started to stain his cruddy home-made suit that he was still proud of nonetheless. The guy had been trying to stab him and Peter’s senses had saved him at the last second, but not unscathed. There was still a slash, right where his ribcage met the side of his abdomen. There was there blood and pain and Peter had used half of the brown paper towels in the first fifteen minutes.

 

The restroom was disgusting, but it would have to do. He turned the sink on and peeled the top portion of his suit off, beginning to strip down as he pulled his change of clothes from his backpack. He typically hid his stuff near that particular gas station, but he didn’t think he had ever actually gone inside before. After having a few backpacks stolen, he had found the vent outside the place to be a good hiding spot. He couldn’t keep telling his dad he had lost his backpacks; his father was too nosey.

 

Slowly, he pulled the paper towel from his wound, grimacing. The bleeding had staunched somewhat due to his healing, but he’d probably be feeling it tomorrow. Once satisfied with the way it looked, he changed into a hoodie and sweat pants, exiting the bathroom and out the back window in which he had come. He hid his backpack and suit in the vent outside, making a mental note to find a sewing kit of sorts to sew the tear in his suit for the next patrol and maybe some kind of stain remover.

 

Peter couldn’t very well ask Miss McGulligan to wash his bloody home-made suit.

 

He had saved his lunch money specifically so he could take a taxi home and by the time they were pulling up to the tower, it was ten minutes past four a.m. It was unfortunately a Tuesday, and he had to get up for school in three hours. Patrol never really ran past one in the morning most nights, but that night had been particularly busy for some reason. Peter headed up to the residence, ignoring the curious look that the receptionist gave him. He’d be curious too about a fourteen-year-old walking in at such an hour, but he didn’t think she had to stare.

 

Peter hadn’t even been concerned when he entered the apartment. His father wasn’t _supposed_ to be home, he had gone to the Compound to oversee some kind of Avengers assignment remotely. So, when the boy began to walk through the darkened apartment towards his bedroom, he didn’t expect for the light to suddenly turn on and for his father to be sitting, elbows on his knees, leaning forward and glaring at him from the couch.

 

He could have vomited from the sudden terror.

 

“Dad!” Peter exclaimed, “W-W-What are you doin’ here?”

 

His father sat up, before pushing himself to his feet and Peter blinked several times, trying his best to drown the anxiety and act calm, but he was afraid his stuttering had already given away that this was not a calm situation in the slightest. His father approached him, tilting his head slightly, “You know, last time I checked I lived here with my son. But my son is walking in at four the morning and I’m kind of confused about that.”

 

Peter blinked rapidly, “Yeah, I-I’m confused about that too.”

 

“Uh-huh,” His father crossed his arms over his chest, getting closer, “And is that why you’re sweating? Why you look like a mess and your pupils are blown? Because you’re _confused_ , and did I mention it’s _four in the morning_?”

 

His voice got lower, more dangerous at the end. Peter swallowed thickly and replied, “I was just out…”

 

“Friday says you left at eleven,” His father snapped, “Didn’t tell me until about an hour ago because you even had the AI freaked the hell out. Where did you go without your cellphone? Why do you look like you just ran a marathon?”

 

Peter felt his heart rise into his throat, before he began to wring his hands together, chewing on his lower lip. He felt about ready to cry, which was not good, not in that situation, and he was suddenly grateful he had left his backpack at the gas station in the vent because if he had brought it in, his father was bound to rifle through it. The room suddenly felt very hot, and he felt smothered underneath the ceiling, despite them being so high up.

 

“L-Like I said, I was out.”

 

His father stared. He stopped walking towards him and Peter stared up at him. The man’s jaw was set, and his mouth was in a straight line, making him nearly impossible to read. Peter had the urge to run to his room, but his senses weren’t going off, so he knew he was in no actual danger. His father would never do anything to hurt him anyway, but the look on his face was murderous and if Peter didn’t know him he might have been more afraid.

 

The man leaned down, close, eyes narrowing as he studied Peter’s face. Peter didn’t step back, but moved his head a little bit. It only took him a minute to realize his father was looking at his eyes, staring at them, and if his pupils were blown like his father had said, it was probably the remnants of patrol, the adrenaline. It took so long to get himself to calm down now, ever since the bite, ever since Oscorp.

 

“Did you take something?”

 

Peter’s stomach twisted, “What?”

 

“Drugs,” His dad snapped, “Did you take _something_?”

 

Horror crept into his bones. Surely his father didn’t think he was on drugs. But then again, Peter thought about how it could look. About how _he_ looked, coming in so late with dilated eyes and sweat dampening his hair. This time Peter really did step back, jaw dropping and his voice cracking in contempt, “No!”

 

“Don’t make me give you a test.”

 

“I’m not on drugs!” Peter insisted, “I-I’m not, I promise! I was just out, being stupid.”

 

His father’s face was growing pinker by the second, “Peter, I swear to God – “

 

Peter jumped when his dad grabbed his wrist and pulled his sleeve up, exposing his arm. He then did the same to the other one and Peter jumped back, but didn’t pull out of his grip for fear he would pull too hard. He would be too obvious. His father ran a hand up his arm and Peter’s voice came out shrill, “I’m not…injecting myself, that’s crazy!”

 

Peter’s father only released him when Friday interrupted the exchange announcing, “Boss, there’s been an incident in Lagos. Steve Rogers is trying to get in touch with you.”

 

He paused in his check over Peter, much to the boy’s relief. He was almost scared he’d try to lift his hoodie or something and see the wound on his side. His dad looked at him, and there was a beat of nothing. Just silence and his dad staring at him like he didn’t trust him and Peter didn’t really understand. It was as if his father didn’t know him at all. In his defense, Peter had been acting off. Slacking at school. Just being more exhausted, but nights were late now, he didn’t sleep much. School had suffered, and Peter wondered how long his father had, had this theory of his about drugs.

 

“Shower, then go to bed,” His father ordered before turning and walking to the elevator. Peter supposed to contact Cap. Peter watched him go, almost bewildered about the whole conversation, shocked it had even happened. The man looked back at him and continued, “We’ll talk more tomorrow. You’re not going to school.”

 

Peter’s eyes widened, “B-But I’ve got work to turn in-“

 

“It can wait. We need to talk.”

 

And then Peter was alone. Just him and Friday.

 

Peter glared up at the ceiling, “You’re such a snitch.”

 

…

 

There had been an explosion in Lagos, apparently.

 

Peter had spent what little was left of the night sitting awake in his room. He showered like he was told to do, and patched up his wound, but he didn’t end up going to sleep. It was around nine in the morning when his father came back and Peter was dozing lightly with his back resting against the headboard of his bed, sitting straight up. The man shook his should, and Peter snapped into reality, swinging his hand out but luckily not striking his father as he blinked.

 

Peter stared a while, trying to get his eyes to focus, but it felt like the room was spinning until everything settled into one. His father was standing above him, frowning deeply and holding something in his hand. Peter questioned groggily, “What happened? Is everyone okay?”

 

His dad looked at the television that was still speaking endlessly on the news in Lagos. Peter knew what happened, but he wanted details, and he should have known better than to try to get them from his dad. The mission had gone sour, that much was clear, but how? Why? What had they done wrong? The footage showed Wanda, and then the chaos that followed, and Peter was having trouble wrapping his mind around it. He wasn’t sure if that was the lack of sleep making it difficult or not.

 

“Not everyone,” His dad responded, but must have seen Peter pale because he amended, “The team is fine, but there were several civilians that didn’t make it. Wakanda’s king is coming out of the woodworks to make a statement.”

 

Peter watched as his dad sat next to him and Peter tried to see what he had in his hand. His father must have noticed because he held it out and it was a small cup. Peter’s brows furrowed, and he looked at his dad, asking, “What’s that?”

 

“A cup,” Okay, irritating, he could _see_ that, “I need you to pee in it.”

 

Peter’s eyes widened, “ _What_? Why?”

 

The man said nothing, and suddenly Peter understood. A drug test. Peter groaned, pressing his palms into his eyes as he shoved down the frustration and threw himself back against his pillows. He didn’t uncover his face as he snapped, “I already told you I’m not on drugs, I promise!”

 

“Then you won’t mind giving me peace of mind.”

 

Peter uncovered his face and sat back up, arguing vehemently, “You’re being ridiculous. Kids my age stay out late all the time and I’m pretty sure their parents don’t make them pee in a cup every time they do that. I know not to do drugs, I hang around chemists constantly, it’d be sort of stupid for me to mess around with it.”

 

There was finality in the order, “Stop arguing with me. Just do it.”

 

Peter bit his lower lip, anger causing his hands to shake. He knew he had been weird the past several months. He had been bitten by a spider and ended up with strange abilities…could climb walls and had put together a suit and webshooters to become a vigilante. But drugs and being Spider-Man were on two different spectrums of stupid. Two _completely_ different spectrums. He just wanted his father to believe him on this one thing…

 

His eyes burned as he whispered, “You think I-I’d do that…? After watching you, over half my life, struggle with everything you struggle with, you think I’d even go near something like that? Dad, I-I don’t even touch alcohol ‘cause I’m _terrified_ of the stuff, why would I use drugs?”

 

The man’s face blanched momentarily. Just briefly, and Peter almost felt guilty for asking, but it just wasn’t fair for his dad to assume the worst because he had been odd. But then again, most parents wouldn’t assume their kid was dressing as a red and blue spider, jumping around Queens at night. He didn’t even think his father knew Spider-Man existed. There were so many mutants out in the world, and Peter hadn’t been born that way. In all senses, he wasn’t supposed to have even gone to Oscorp in the first place.

 

“And you wonder why I’m so worried? You think I haven’t seen this before?” His father retaliated suddenly.

 

“I never said you haven’t,” Peter said.

 

His father held out the cup, and Peter eventually took it because he knew his dad wasn’t going to let it go until he did. Peter stood from the bed and sulked to the bathroom, face burning red with anger and annoyance.

 

He pissed in the cup, and to no one’s surprise except his father’s, it came back negative of any drugs.

 

***

 

_June 2016_

 

After the whole drug-accusation incident, Peter found it to be a lot more difficult to sneak out and patrol. So much so, he started patrolling in the early afternoon. Despite the fact that crime spiked as the sun went down, he always got home before then just so his dad wouldn’t start asking more questions about what he was doing. The last thing he needed was for his father to randomly track him down and find him jumping around in his suit.

 

Peter had healed within a day or two of being cut, but the drug assumptions had never really died off, even after he had been forced to pee in a cup. He had an odd suspicion his father had rifled through his things, through his room, through everything, but he didn’t ask because he knew he was treading on thin ice as it was. But, Lagos was a huge thing, the secretary, Thaddeus Ross was constantly calling and Peter was left in the dark about most of it. It also kept his father away from Peter’s shenanigans so, he was somehow grateful.

 

Not for Lagos though. He could tell it was all a lot for his dad. Because he knew he was worrying the man, which was how he had ended up getting ready for the MIT presentation in the first place. His dad had stopped trusting him to be home alone unless absolutely necessary because Peter knew his way around Friday. Peter was awake _so_ early, sitting on the couch as his father finished gathering some of his work together and they waited for Happy to arrive.

 

Peter had his hands folded together, hardly able to keep his eyes open. He was overly exhausted, too tired to stay awake and when he blinked, he noticed his father was putting on his Rolex, watching him. His dad questioned, voice unreadable, “Tired?”

 

“Sorta,” Peter knew if he lied it would only raise his suspicions. Half-truths were better.

 

He approached Peter, watching closely for a reaction. Peter stared up at him, and he had questions, but they were questions he couldn’t muster. His father smoothed his hair down and Peter could only assume he looked disheveled again. But his dad looked tired too, maybe even more so than Peter was. There was a silent understanding, whispering, then screaming and Peter knew his father would get it, all the exhaustion of this endeavor of his, but the problem was, he couldn’t tell him because he knew his father would take it away.

 

“Wanna talk about it?” His dad asked.

 

It was probably the softest his voice had been since the night he had accused Peter of doing drugs. Like a good cop/bad cop game. This must have been the good cop, a different approach, a way to get Peter to talk. He knew it was driving his father crazy, not knowing how to get the answers out of Peter. It was like a barrier that had never been there before, climbing slowly.

 

It had been there ever since the first night Peter had gone out, dressed like Spider-Man. It was the name the people of Queens had dubbed him with and it fit, he supposed, but sometimes he wondered if he even counted as a man, being fourteen and all. He wished he could talk about it with his father. He wished he could talk about all of it, but he couldn’t.

 

So, he shook his head, “Nothin’ to talk about really. Just tired.”

 

His father only hummed, in the same disbelieving way he always did when he acted like he knew something that Peter didn’t know. Or a secret of sorts. In the next ten minutes they were leaving for MIT and really, the entire presentation had been startling. B.A.R.F. was new to even Peter and he had known his father was building something having to do with therapy and memories, but he hadn’t been sure of what it was. And seeing his grandparents on the screen, the last time his father had seen them alive, it had jarred Peter just as much as Pepper not being there had done.

 

He missed Pepper, in a desperate sort of way, and even though she still visited him and he got to go see her, it was still a void that he couldn’t quite fill. He was so used to having her there. He was _so used_ to having her to lean on when his father frustrated him. So, the moment the moment her name flashed across the teleprompter, and Peter saw from where he was standing back stage, he had been sent reeling. From the looks of it, his father had too, but the crowd was just happy to have received the September Foundation Grant.

 

Peter watched his father exit the stage, coming towards him, and Peter had to step back as one of the MIT representatives moved to speak to his father. Peter followed close behind, hearing vaguely what they were talking about.

 

The man spoke excitedly to his dad, “Wow. Wow. That uh… That took my breath away. Oh, Tony! So generous. So much money! Wow! Out of curiosity… will any portion of that grant be made available to faculty? I know, "Ooh, gross," but hear me out. I have got this killer idea for a self-cooking hotdog. Basically, chemical detonator embedded…”

 

“Restrooms this way?” His dad asked, and Peter didn’t have to be blind to realize it was an escape plan.

 

A woman stepped into their path and apologized profusely, “Mister Stark, I am so sorry about the teleprompter. I didn't know Miss Potts had cancelled. They didn't have time to fix it.”

 

Peter bumped into his father’s back when the woman caused him to stop walking. He could see the way his father had stiffened and there was something overcast in his shoulders. Peter blinked rapidly, trying read him, but without seeing his face it was hard. It was like when he would verge on a panic attack and he had three people hovering too close, but Peter didn’t want to leave him, he wanted the other people to get away from his father.

 

“That’s fine,” His father reassured, “I’ll be right back.”

 

His father continued on and Peter rushed after him, giving a small wave to the man and woman as he trailed the man. He didn’t look back and Peter kept up his pace as they moved down a small corridor. Peter reached out, grabbing him by the arm to stop him and maybe it had been too hard of a pull, because his father looked back at him surprised as he was stopped. Peter immediately removed his hand, back going straight.

 

“Are you okay?” Peter whispered.

 

His dad made a face, maybe one of guilt, and Peter didn’t know why. He muttered, “I’m fine, Pete.”

 

He continued on, and the two of them emerged into a hallway before going toward an elevator. Peter noticed the woman after his father did, considering his father was in front of him blocking most of the path. Peter realized they had passed up the restroom, and he thought maybe the panic attack in his father’s bones had subsided. The woman was staring at the wall, like a ghost in the hallway, but Peter paid her very little attention, attempting to stick to his dad’s side as not to get left behind. Sometimes when his father got panicky, he disappeared, and Peter didn’t want lose him in the massive building full of people.

 

Silence became the enemy.

 

Peter wanted to say something, but the woman was still there. Something about his father’s worry. A month had passed since the incident in the tower. Since the drug accusation, but it had been causing a lot of nerves and Peter was starting to think maybe he was what was pushing his father so close to the edge. Not just the breakup with Pepper or the entire ordeal with Ultron. Peter was a source of pain at that point, but he couldn’t just go out and say “Hey I’m Spider-Man, please don’t make me stop what I’m doing, I’m trying to help people and make your job easier. I’m looking out for the little guy”.

 

His dad wouldn’t get it. He wouldn’t understand.

 

His thoughts were broken when the woman spoke…

 

“That was nice…what you did for those young people.”

 

Both he and his father looked at her. Peter didn’t say anything and his father seemingly averted his eyes. He put his hands in his pockets and Peter watched every movement carefully. He had relaxed, but Peter could still tell he was slightly on edge as he said, “They deserve it…plus it helps ease my conscience.”

 

Something sparked behind her eyes, “They say there's a correlation between generosity and guilt. But if you've got the money… break as many eggs as you like. Right?”

 

Peter felt nausea creep up. It felt like talking to one of those reporters with the low jabs. Peter glanced at the elevator, noticing the button wasn’t lit and he immediately reached out and pressed it, surprising his dad as well. The man’s brows tugged together, eyes narrowing on the woman beside them as he questioned, “Going up?”

 

“I’m right where I want to be.”

 

It happened kind of fast, and Peter’s senses didn’t go off when she began to reach into her purse. But apparently something snapped inside of his father, because his hand flew out so quickly, Peter’s heart went into his throat like vomit and he grabbed her wrist. His father stepped in front of him, effectively shielding him from the woman’s view. Peter leaned over, trying to look around, but he noticed the two of them had frozen as his dad said, “Hey, hey.”

 

There was a beat, a breath, then, “Sorry…Occupational hazard.”

 

And Peter saw her face. Pain dug into every wrinkle, into her frown, and Peter felt the urge to cry suddenly. Something was so very wrong with the entire situation and he just wanted to escape through the elevator and drag his father with him. She explained lowly, “I work for the State Department. Human Resources. I know it's boring… but it enabled me to raise a son. I'm very proud of what he grew up to be.”

 

She then shoved something into his dad’s chest, a piece of paper of some kind, but Peter’s father wouldn’t let him step around and see what it was as she went on, “His name was Charlie Spencer. Your murdered him. In Sokovia. Not that it matters in the least to you. You think you fight for us. You just fight for yourself.”

 

His father shook his head, as if in shock, and he was saying nothing. Peter finally did step out from behind him and the boy ordered sharply, “Stop it.”

 

Her eyes met Peter’s. The same pain was radiating, and it felt like a million pounds. She was hurting, and Peter didn’t like the guilt that twisted like a blade under his stomach. But he couldn’t just stand there while she said that to his father. His dad grabbed his wrist and Peter looked at him, brown eyes wide and Peter couldn’t see himself, but he knew he looked absolutely horrified and afraid. Not that she was going to hurt them, but that her words would cut too deeply into his father.

 

“Who’s going to avenge my son, Stark?” She hissed, “He’s dead…and I blame you. You still have _your_ child, right there beside you…wanting to protect you. And you can still protect him…but I can’t protect my boy.”

 

She turned and walked away, down the corridor, but even after she was gone, Peter could still hear the shake in her tone. Peter turned, looking at what she had shoved at his father and he realized it was the picture of a smiling boy. Peter’s eyes burned, partly with anger, and partly with sadness as he looked at it. He felt like he was drowning so he couldn’t imagine what his dad felt like, his eyes glazed over and expression grim.

 

“Dad?” Peter whispered, and his father looked down at him, “D-Dad she…what she said…it wasn’t _you_ …”

 

His father made a quiet shushing sound, and it reminded Peter so much of when he was small. The years before Iron Man, when Peter was plagued by those odd nightmares of someone shooting his father in the stomach. Before the suits and the armor and the Avengers. Before Spider-Man and the secrets. Peter didn’t know why he was being shushed, until he realized he was crying and his father reached out, putting a hand on the back of his neck and he pulled Peter close to him in a side hug.

 

Peter didn’t know why he was crying, but he didn’t want to look at Charlie’s smiling face anymore.

 

…

 

It had been a while since Peter had been to the Compound. Not since the month before, even before Lagos had happened. The Avengers had been quiet in their movements and his father had kept Peter away for those reasons. Peter wondered if it was for isolation purposes and if they just weren’t allowed to socialize with anyone. But they left straight from the MIT event for the Compound because apparently his father had a meeting with the Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross.

 

Peter knew very little about the man other than the fact that he had somehow been involved in the Harlem incident with Doctor Banner. It didn’t extend past that, and not to mention, Secretary Ross had a mustache that Peter thought was particularly ugly. But the minute they walked into the Compound, Secretary Ross was there to greet them at the door and extended his hand to Peter’s father. He didn’t smile, but neither did his dad, other than a sort of sarcastic grimace.

 

“Stark,” Secretary Ross greeted gruffly, “You’re late. Everyone is waiting upstairs.”

 

His dad put his hands in his pockets, “Can’t be late to a place that I fund, Ross, you should know that.”

 

He looked back at Peter and ordered, “Wait down here.”

 

“But-“ Peter started, though his dad only held up his index finger. Ross raised an eyebrow curiously.

 

“This your boy?” Secretary Ross asked, but he must have already known for sure, because he offered a hand to Peter before his dad said anything and introduced himself, “Secretary Ross, and you’re…Patrick?”

 

Peter took the hand and tried not to squeeze too hard as he corrected, “Peter.”

 

“Peter,” Ross echoed, then turned and gestured for Peter’s dad to lead to way. Peter watched as they ascended the stairs up towards the conference room and Peter plopped down on the couch in the small sitting area near the door, lowering his head and shutting his eyes, trying to focus on the sounds in the massive building. There were footsteps and voices echoing, and he could definitely hear his father’s, but he couldn’t get his hearing to drown out the other sounds. He hadn’t quite figured the sensory overload thing out yet and he sat back up straight and gave up.

 

Whatever they were talking about, he guessed it was none of his business. But the curiosity was still there. Wanting to know and understand, but it didn’t extend past what he had seen on the news. Something called the Sokovia Accords, but no details had been announced to the public and he knew if he asked his father he would tell him not to worry about it.

 

He guessed he just had to wait like everyone else.

 

Peter wasted time, mostly texting Ned about how bored he was, but Ned just thought Peter was lucky to even be in the Avenger’s Facility. Peter had brought him there a few times and each and every time, Ned geeked out. The whole concept was baffling to Peter. He wanted to be an Avenger so badly, that being in the facility sort of frustrated him. But now with Spider-Man…He didn’t know if he’d be able to do that until he was thirty. And that was considering if his father ever forgave him for not telling him about Spider-Man initially. If he could love him for being a mutant.

 

Hours passed before the Avengers emerged from the meeting room, only to be bickering and to disappear into another room. Peter stood suddenly, rushing up the stairs and down the hall towards the break room they had ducked into and he could already see through the window that everyone was on edge. His dad plopped down on a couch and covered his face, evidence of a migraine blooming while Cap was holding a thick book in his hands, flipping through it with a pained look on his face.

 

Peter walked towards the door, opening it carefully just as he heard his Uncle Rhodey snap towards Sam, “Secretary Ross has a congressional medal of honor, that’s one more than you have.”

 

“So, let’s just say we agree to this thing,” Sam replied, “How long is it gonna be before they LoJack us like a bunch of common criminals?”

 

Uncle Rhodey looked exasperated and Peter stayed towards the back of the room, trying to go unnoticed, despite Nat having looked at him and narrowed her eyes knowingly. She said nothing to expose him and Uncle Rhodey went on, “One-hundred-seventeen countries want to sign this thing, Sam, and you’re just like ‘no it’s okay, we got it’.”

 

“How long are you going to play both sides?” Sam asked.

 

“I have an equation,” Vision interrupted, and everyone looked at him as Sam muttered something under his breath. Peter stepped a bit closer, ears perking up at the idea of Vision providing some insight. He had Jarvis’ voice…he had pieces of Jarvis and the natural urge to trust him was always there and Peter supposed it always would be. There was an attachment there, a fondness and it wasn’t ever going to go away for the voice who lived in the ceiling.

 

Vision explained, “In the eight years since Mister Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially. And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.”

 

Peter’s stomach dropped.

 

Enhanced humans.

 

He was an enhanced human…an oddity. Dangerous maybe…Peter looked down at his hands and bit his lip, as Steve questioned, “Are you saying it’s our fault?”

 

“I'm saying there may be a causality. Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict… breeds catastrophe. Oversight… _Oversight_ is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”

 

“Boom,” Uncle Rhodey hummed, and Peter rolled his eyes.

 

Peter noticed Nat had removed her attention from him to his father on the couch with his hand still covering his face. Natasha observed, “Tony…You’re being uncharacteristically non-hyperverbal.”

 

Cap huffed, “It’s because he already made up his mind.”

 

“Boy, you know me so well,” His father seemed to stand up in an instant and rubbed the back of his head, “I’m actually nursing an electromagnetic headache.”

 

His father turned around suddenly, and just when he was walking towards him, he seemed to notice Peter standing in the corner of the room. Everyone else turned as well and Peter looked at Nat as if she could help him, but she said nothing. Peter raised his hand slowly and gave a small wave and his father pinched the bridge of his nose, “I told you to wait for me.”

 

“I’ve been waiting _hours_ ,” Peter argued, “What’s the big secret? Why can’t I listen?”

 

His father shook his head and sighed, but moved towards the kitchen area. He didn’t argue to make Peter leave and Peter’s throat twisted slightly because he knew that wasn’t a good sign. That they were skirting on the edge of something bad. Peter moved into the living area, sitting down slowly on the couch where his father had been while they all watched the man. His father grabbed a cup and looked at the sink before he snapped, “Who's putting coffee grounds in the disposal? Am I running a bed and breakfast for a biker gang?”

 

No one got the chance the answer before he suddenly dropped his phone onto the counter and tapped it. Peter’s skin went cold when he saw the same picture that had been shoved at his father just that morning. Charlie Spencer appeared, smiling, bright, happy, alive, and Peter wanted to leave suddenly. Maybe it had been none of his business after all.

 

“Oh, that’s Charles Spencer by the way,” His dad sounded nonchalant, but the edge of his tone was almost hysterical, “He's a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. Had a floor level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn't want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn't go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where? _Sokovia_.”

 

The last word came out like a whip, a snap.

 

The others flinched a bit, but Peter knew what was coming. He knew what he was going to say…

 

“He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kickin’ ass.”

 

Peter flatlined. His heart constricted as his father washed down a pill with the contents of his mug. He dropped it back onto the counter and moved around back into the room and Peter studied the others who weren’t saying anything. He wished someone would say _something_. Anything. His father explained, “There’s no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I’m game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys.”

 

“Tony, if someone dies on your watch, you don’t give up,” Cap argued.

 

“Who said we’re giving up?” His father breathed.

 

“We are if we’re not taking responsibility for our actions,” Peter’s ears were ringing from the confusion of it all, and his eyes focused on the book Cap had in his hands that had ‘Sokovia Accords’ printed on the cover, “This document just shifts the blame.”

 

“I'm sorry, Steve,” Uncle Rhodey cut in, “That - that is dangerously arrogant. This is the United Nations we're talking about. It's not the World Security Council, it's not Shield, it's not Hydra.”

 

Cap waved a hand, “No, but it’s run by people with agendas and agendas change.”

 

“That’s _good_ ,” His father walked towards them until he was standing beside the couch Peter was sitting on. Peter stared up at the man as he put his hands in his pockets and moved in front of Cap, “That’s why I’m here. When I realized what my weapons were capable of in the wrong hands I shut it down.”

 

Cap shifted in his chair to face Peter’s father, “Tony, you chose to do that. If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose.”

 

Peter swallowed thickly, past the lump that was quickly forming in his throat. His father was grinding his teeth and Peter looked at all of the other occupants of the room and Cap seemed to be doing the same, studying reactions and finding answers. But no one was offering it and Peter’s father glanced down at him. He made a face, one that Peter recognized as an attempt to be silently reassuring. That everything was fine. The same look he’d give Peter when Peter would walk in on him and Pepper arguing.

 

Cap continued, “What if this panel sends us somewhere we don't think we should go? What if there is somewhere we _need_ to go, and they don't let us? We may not be perfect, but the safest hands are still our own.”

 

“If we don't do this now, it's gonna be done to us later. That's the fact. That won't be pretty,” His dad sounded very similar to how he had a month ago. The low, parental voice that was ordering him to take the drug test. Explaining things in more simplistic terms, as if speaking to an infant.

 

Peter jumped when Wands spoke for the first time, “You’re saying they’ll come for me.”

 

“We would protect you,” Vision reassured.

 

Nat sighed, “Maybe Tony is right. If we have one hand on the wheel, we can still steer, if we take it off – “

 

“Aren't you the same woman who told the government to kiss her ass a few years ago?” Sam questioned.

 

“I’m just…” She defended, “I’m just reading the terrain. We have made…some very public mistakes. We need to win their trust back.”

 

Peter didn’t miss the way Cap looked a bit hurt by her words.

 

His dad leaned over the table, “Focus up. I’m sorry, did I just mishear you? Or did you agree with me?”

 

She shook her head, “Oh, I want to take it back now.”

 

“No, no, no,” The man insisted, “You can’t retract. Thank you. Unprecedented. Case closed – I win.”

 

Peter’s hearing made him jump whenever the sound of a phone vibrating met his ears. He had noticed that it was particularly bad in class when everyone had their phones set to vibrate and a quiet room would be broken by it. He watched as Cap reached over and narrowed his eyes on his phone before something like pain flashed across his face and then disappeared without much evidence. Peter tilted his head, and Cap dropped the stack of papers onto the coffee table before standing sharply, saying, “I’ve gotta go.”

 

Everyone was silent when he left, and Peter thought he could hear the soldier’s heart breaking on the way out.

 

…

 

The ride home was spent in a relatively comfortable silence. Mostly because it was late before they actually left the Compound and Peter was tired. He kept his head against the window, with his eyes closed as he pondered on a good route for a possible afternoon patrol the next day. The radio was quiet, and the sound of the car almost lulled him deep in his thoughts.

 

His father was tapping the steering wheel to the beat of the music and suddenly he broke the quiet, making Peter’s eyes snap open when he said, “Pete.”

 

Peter lifted his head from the window and looked over at his dad, able to make out the shadow of his face in the darkness of the car, slightly lit from the glowing buttons on the dash. Peter blinked a few times, trying to get his eyes to adjust before he questioned, “Yeah?”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

The boy’s brows pinched. Of course he was okay…It seemed out of the blue, and sure, it had been a rough day. The whole conversation with the mother of Charlie Spencer and the debate over the ‘accords’ Peter was exhausted, but he felt fine. He looked down at himself though, just to make sure he was all in one piece before he replied carefully, “Yeah…A-Are you?”

 

He didn’t know when things suddenly got hard to talk about. But they had somewhere, silently and without warning. Maybe when the mask and the goggles had arrived. When Peter had decided somewhere along the way that being Spider-Man was the only way he could reach his goal of eventually becoming an Avenger and proving himself. Then chickening out halfway through the plan and never telling his father.

 

Peter noticed how the man gripped the steering wheel a bit tighter before saying, “I need you to talk to me. Something is going on that you’re not telling me about.”

 

“Well, it’s not drugs,” Peter joked, but only laughed a little before the look that his father shot him silenced him immediately. Peter sobered and continued, “Dad…nothing is wrong with me. It’s just…you know I’m in high school now and I’m working really hard and stuff.”

 

“Doesn’t explain why you came home at four in the morning a month ago. Why you’re always running off and conveniently leaving your cellphone so no one can know where you are.”

 

Peter shook his head, “This isn’t on purpose.”

 

“Really? Because I’m beginning to think otherwise.”

 

Peter dropped his head back against the head rest. He shrugged, “I dunno what you want me to say.”

 

His dad scoffed, “How ‘bout you start with the truth?”

 

Peter whipped his head in his father’s direction. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell him. He wanted to talk about it desperately. He wanted to tell his father all about the people he helped on a daily basis. About the woman near Delmar’s that always asked to shake his hand. About the bus he had saved and how amazing it was to see that everyone was unharmed. But not just the good things…the bad things too. The woman who had jumped from the Queens’ Bank Tower two months ago. Peter hadn’t been in time to save her. He had cried _weeks_ over it and he couldn’t tell anyone.

 

He opened his mouth. He almost said it.

 

But then the fear cut him, and he remembered that if he told his father…his father would take it away. No more lady near Delmar’s. No more relieved faces of those he saved. No more making a difference in a city that needed someone to look out for it. For the little people. So, Peter’s mouth snapped shut, and he shook his head back and forth, side to side, nothing.

 

“I’m okay. That’s the truth.”

 

The man sighed, just as they were pulling into the tower. Peter scurried from the vehicle rather quickly, because he knew he had once again disappointed the man. That he had struck some kind of nerve under the flesh. But Peter just couldn’t throw it all away and the two of them rode the elevator up to the residence without so much as an utterance to one another. The moment they entered, Peter was fully prepared to find a place to hide until he was ready for bed, but he was surprised to see the light in the kitchen on and Pepper was sitting at the dining table, looking over some papers.

 

Peter’s eyes widened, and a smile spread across his face as he exclaimed, “Pepper!”

 

Her head snapped up and Peter glanced back at his father who didn’t look surprised about her presence. Peter then turned back to Pepper and approached her just as she stood, and he hugged her around her neck. When he pulled away, he couldn’t get rid of his smile…he had missed her. She had been staying in California most of the time since the breakup in December and Peter had only gotten to see her on a few school holidays.

 

“What’re you doing here?” Peter questioned, looking back and forth between the adults. There was an odd silence and Peter went on, “And why am I the only one surprised to see you?”

 

But that really _was_ the best question. Peter was the one that was always surprised, and no one said much to that. He shifted, eyeing them, wanting to say more, but no one was offering him much to work with. It was all a silent stab to his chest, and not much else. His father approached the table and pulled out one of the chairs before gesturing for Peter to sit down and then the betrayal rose like bile and Peter looked at Pepper.

 

“He called you.”

 

“Peter…” She started softly.

 

“No,” Peter interrupted, “He called you to come interrogate me – “

 

His father insisted, “It’s not an interrogation, it’s a conversation. So sit with us so we can talk, all of us together.”

 

Peter’s eyes stung, but he did as he was told. It had been such a long day and he wondered if his father had planned this before knowing all of the events that would transpire. Peter looked at Pepper with a pleading expression, silently begging her to let him run away because he knew his father wasn’t going to allow it. But she only offered him a small smile that said ‘I’m sorry’.

 

His father sat to his left and Pepper sat at the end of the table to his right. He felt squeezed between them as Pepper put the papers she had been working on away. He twiddled his thumbs in his lap, staring downward and he didn’t really know what they wanted but no one was beginning the conversation for him. Briefly, he considered maybe it was some kind of tactic. Like the silence was supposed to pry information out of him.

 

“I guess I’ll get us kicked off,” His dad clapped his hands together, but the sharp awkwardness stung a bit, “We wanna talk. Just about what’s been happening the past few months.”

 

Peter stared, expectantly. He couldn’t understand what kind of confession they wanted out of him. Maybe a confession about struggling or drugs, but that wouldn’t be the truth and there was no way in hell he was going to say anything about Spider-Man, his homemade suit, his abilities, or his webshooters. That would have to be pried out of him with a drill and he wasn’t going to do it. He wouldn’t.

 

“Is this an intervention?” Peter questioned, voice coming out as a whisper.

 

His father and Pepper looked at each other and the nonverbal communication was answer enough for Peter’s suspicions. He shook his head back and forth, and argued, “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not on drugs. I passed the test a month ago. We’ve been going around in circles about this for weeks – “

 

“This hasn’t just been an issue recently,” His dad interrupted, “You’ve been like this since December. Since…”

 

He trailed off. He was looking at Pepper again and Peter turned to see her. She grimaced and continued for him, “We’ve noticed a change since the breakup…and we’re worried you may have picked up some unhealthy coping habits.”

 

Peter blinked. Sure, the breakup was still a sore subject for him. And the way his father was hunching, it was a sore spot for him as well. Peter grabbed the edge of the table and maybe his dad thought he was about to retreat because he leaned even closer beside him. Peter dug his nails in, tried to take deep and calming breaths, but it was frustrating to be accused of something over and over again. He supposed he should have been grateful they weren’t accusing him of being a vigilante but still…this was almost as bad.

 

He shrunk into himself, folding, as if having to protect something. He pressed, “I’m not on drugs, Pepper. I’m not doing anything wrong, I’ve just been busy and I’ve been tired.”

 

His father spoke from behind him, “Because you hardly sleep, Peter.”

 

“I’ve got stuff to do,” Peter couldn’t look back at him, so he simply lowered his head, “I’m trying to make good grades, and there’s band practice, robotics clubs, and Decathlon. I-I’m really, really busy, but I’ll be out of school soon for the summer and then I won’t be so tired anymore.”

 

Peter could feel himself shaking, shoulders and hands and he tried to control the tears that were pooling in his eyes. He was just so frustrated with them, to have him sit down like he was being punished trying to pry answers out of him. They were a looming presence and he just wanted to leave, he wanted to go patrol and swoop through the city. To feel free, but he couldn’t even do that because Friday would tell on him again.

 

“Either way,” Pepper always sounded so soft, and so kind, it forced him to listen, “We were thinking it’d be good for you if you started seeing Doctor Weathering again.”

 

Peter’s head snapped up, “No…No, I don’t need to go to a therapist anymore, we _fixed_ that.”

 

“Peter –“ His father tried, but Peter was pushing himself to his feet.

 

“Nothing is wrong with me!” Peter stepped back away from them, “I’m me, okay? I’m Peter, and I-I’m not on drugs, or overworked, or whatever you’re thinking, I’m just like every other kid my age s-so _stop_!”

 

Peter whirled, storming towards his room. Despite both of them calling his name, he shut his door.

 

He didn’t slam it, Peter wasn’t necessarily angry.

 

It just hurt so much not to be trusted.

 

…

 

There was radio silence for two days.

 

Then Vienna. The explosion. The Winter Soldier was captured and arrested.

 

His father left for the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre in Berlin and Peter didn’t say goodbye.

 

…

 

“Dude, can you believe we only have two more weeks of school? Then _total_ freedom.”

 

Ned’s voice cut through Peter’s thought processes. He was still reeling from his Algebra test earlier that day and even though he felt like he had done great, staying up to study for it had taken its toll. He looked up from his phone where he was sporadically checking the news from Berlin. Apparently, the Winter Soldier had made a great escape… _With_ Captain America.

 

It all looked like a huge mess, and his father wasn’t replying to any of his text messages, other than having told him he was alive. Which was all fine and good, but Peter wanted information beyond just that. Particularly if Cap had gone AWOL or something. It was just a huge concept for Peter to wrap his mind around…Cap had left…gone…to help a guy who was a war criminal.

 

He didn’t understand.

 

“Pete,” Ned tried again, “Peter, hey!”

 

Peter’s head snapped up and he blinked, “Huh?”

 

“Didn’t you hear me?” Ned questioned, “I was saying how we’ve only got two more weeks of school! I’ve been saving my money to stock up on video games for us to beat this summer.”

 

Peter nodded, forcing the enthusiasm as he replied, “Oh yeah! Sounds great.”

 

The final bell of the day rang suddenly, and everyone started moving at once. Ned stuck some of his books in his backpack and Peter did the same while he tried to gather all of his multi-colored pens from their art project together. Ned asked, “Do you wanna go grab some burgers?”

 

“Nah,” Peter replied, “I’ve got some homework to get done before tomorrow. Plus, Dad is out of town so I’m hoping he’ll call soon about what’s going on in Berlin right now with the Winter Solider and everything.”

 

Ned’s eyes widened, “Dude, I saw that! That was insane!”

 

Peter agreed. Completely insane. They finished packing up and they didn’t go their separate ways until they were outside and Ned climbed in his mom’s car waiting out front. Peter instead took the sidewalk towards his regular gas station alley to find his suit in the vent. Luckily it was still there. Peter always had a bit of anxiety about leaving it for a few days, but it looked just fine and he changed clothes as quickly as possible as to avoid anyone accidentally stumbling upon him.

 

And then he was free.

 

The hours after school catching petty criminals were some of the best of the day. Not just because he was helping people, but because it was somewhat therapeutic for him as well. Just being out of the tower helped a lot, especially since he knew Friday was watching his every move. He stopped a guy who was trying to rob the very gas station he typically hid his costume at. He also stopped a woman from throwing her husband’s television out the third story window of the home (until he found out the husband had cheated on her, then he escorted the husband out of the building).

 

He moved around Queens, a place that felt more like home than Manhattan sometimes. Occasionally, Peter found himself wondering what his life would have been like if his mother and step-father had never died. If he would have been raised in Queens, if he would know it even better than he did now. Peter also wondered if he’d even know his father was his father, or if his mother and step-father would have kept that a secret from him. If he would have even been bitten in the first place. If he’d be Spider-Man.

 

Life was so weird, and Peter stopped thinking about it, plopping down on a rooftop as his head felt like it was going to explode. He had the urge to rip his goggles of, because his eyes were burning suddenly and he wished he had told his father goodbye because he wasn’t replying to his text messages now. Peter assumed he was busy, and the tone had changed, Peter wasn’t happy to be patrolling anymore and it probably had to do with several hours of radio silence form the man. Berlin was so far and if something happened to his father, Peter didn’t want his last words to be a scream.

 

Sometimes Peter found it really hard to be in his skull. It was like there were two people there: Peter and Spider-Man. Spider-Man told him to suck it up. To do what he had to do and patrol and help in any way he could, but Peter told him to do what his father said. To tell his father and to stop lying. To stop worrying the man so much. It was like a constant game of tug of war, always, always, always and Peter wished he had said goodbye.

 

“Well, if it isn’t _the_ Spider-Guy. Fancy meeting you here.”

 

Peter’s heart plummeted.

 

Suddenly, he wished his father would stay away.

 

He whirled around and jumped to his feet, stumbling just slightly to see one of his father’s suits hovering a few feet away on the rooftop. Peter wracked his brain…His dad was in Berlin…and he was fairly certain this was one of the lower, surviving Marks that hadn’t been destructed after the Aldrich Killian incident. He felt like vomiting and surely…surely his father knew who he was then, because one: Iron Man didn’t come to Queens. And two: Iron Man didn’t talk to Spider-Man. Low level vigilantes just weren’t his _thing_.

 

Peter said nothing, debating on if he should stand his ground or turn and run. His father couldn’t _know_. He would have said something by now. Before. Not when Peter was suited up in his goggles and outfit, contemplating his very existence on the rooftops. This was his thing anyway, his part of the city, and a part of Peter was kind of frustrated that his dad was in his territory because this was where Peter protected the little guy. This was his mother’s.

 

“Calm down,” The suit held out a hand and Peter knew his father couldn’t be inside, the voice sounded too automated, not like a person right in front of him, “I come in peace. Not exactly the best circumstances, but I figured now was as good time as any to introduce myself.”

 

Okay…okay so his dad definitely did _not_ know it was him.

 

_Oh shit. Oh shit._

Peter opened his mouth and shut it. How could he talk? Surely his father would know who he was…he’d know his voice. Peter swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to run. The suit lowered the hand it had raised and questioned, “What? No snarky come-back? I’m kind of disappointed. Those hero-watch blogs make you out to be a lot funnier.”

 

He shook his head, and lowered his voice to the best of his ability, masking it behind something theatric that was funny even for himself, “You’re Iron Man.”

 

“Nice observation,” He replied, “And you’re…Spider-Guy, right? Spiderling? You’re awful short, but I get it, height it hard and some people don’t have a prayer. Trust me, I know from experience. Anyway, I’m glad I caught you out and about, I heard your presence had been lacking the past few weeks.”

 

_Yeah, because of you and your drug tests._

Peter blinked under the goggles and responded, “W-W-What are you doing here? I saw on the news, you’re kind of busy at the moment.”

 

He coughed slightly, the change in his tone irritating his throat. The suit nodded, “I am busy. Very busy. Currently sitting in a Berlin office right now actually trying to fight the urge to strangle a few of my teammates. Here’s the thing, I need to ask a favor from you, Spidey.”

 

Peter knew it shouldn’t have, but something sparked in his chest. His father was asking him for help, which was something he had wanted for so long, but he knew deep down this wasn’t his father asking Peter, this was his father asking Spider-Man. Asking for help, with something, but pride still swirled because if his dad had noticed him…Spider-Man…then his dad obviously felt Spider-Man was capable of _something_. Which meant Peter was capable of something.

 

“Sure!” His voice cracked, possibly too eager, “I-I mean, yeah, dude. What’s up?”

 

“Well, here’s the thing, details will have to be…let’s say withheld,” Iron Man – his _father_ explained in a wishy-washy way, “Just until some kind of something can be set up. We’ve got a situation here in Germany and we could use some hands.”

 

Some hands. Peter had hands. His eyes widened in wonder, and he almost couldn’t contain his excitement until his brain connected it. _Germany_. His dad was in Germany and if they needed help there, Peter was going to have to go. He had school the next day…assignments to turn in. Peter swallowed thickly, shoulder slouching just a little, “You want me to go to Germany?”

 

“That’d be important to get the hands here, unless there’s some kind of magic trick you can perform where they detach.”

 

Peter bit his lower lip, “W…Well here’s the thing…I’ve got some stuff here, you know, obligations. Maybe for about…eight hours tomorrow.”

 

“Eight hours,” The suit echoed, “I get it, a day job, blue collar stuff, right? Gonna need you to take a day off. I’ve got a jet leaving in about an hour and I need you to get on it.”

 

Silence shrouded him a moment. His father needed him, but he was so afraid. It was one thing for a suit to be staring at him, not knowing who he was, but it was a whole other thing for him to be with his dad in person. Peter felt his heart nearly shoot out of his chest, because he wanted so badly to help him…to prove himself…but he just wasn’t quite ready for his father to find out about Spider-Man yet. To find out it was him below the mask. Terror clung, tightly, but Peter’s mouth moved before he got the chance to stop it…

 

“Fine,” Peter croaked.

 

He then recovered, lowering his voice again, “But, there are rules. I don’t take off my mask in front of anyone. You don’t ask who I am. No one spies on me to find out or anything like that- “

 

“Right right,” The man interrupted, “Secret identity stuff and all that. I can deal with it, but that means you’re gonna have to suffer an entire plane ride under that mask because I’m sending a travel partner with you. My forehead of security, Happy. You’ll meet him, he’s tolerable.”

 

Peter could have groaned.

 

Great…he wouldn’t just have to worry about his father, he’d have to worry about Happy too.

 

Peter’s only response though was a scoff, “Fine…but I reserve the right to knock him out if he sees my face.”

 

“Good luck trying.”

 

…

 

It was the worst plane ride of Peter’s life.

 

Suffocating really, and Peter had never been forced to wear his mask for so long. He was too afraid to talk much, so Happy thought he was a freak. They didn’t arrive at the hotel until late that night and they had to sneak him into the hotel so people wouldn’t look at him crazy for wearing his weird suit that had been dubbed a ‘onesie’.

 

The moment he was left alone in the room, Peter had ripped the mask off his face, literally gasping for oxygen and his shower was too long, trying to get the nasty feeling off his face. He’d probably wake up with some extreme form of acne, but it was the only way to escape Happy and his father without his face being exposed.

 

His dad had sent him details. Cap had apparently fallen off the deep end because of the Winter Solider. They were going to get him under control, arrest him and bring him in. Peter was supposed to aim for his legs and try not to listen to Cap’s preaching, but Cap was good at words which made Peter slightly nervous. But he knew he couldn’t conversate too much during the fight anyway.

 

Then the next morning had come.

 

The new suit.

 

And Peter’s world exploded into a childish excitement. A brand new freaking suit, something his father had built for Spider-Man and Peter knew it wasn’t meant for him personally, that his father hadn’t known who he was building for exactly, but Peter was so happy he wanted to cry. It was like his dad was indirectly approving of his after school activities, but at the end of the day, that wasn’t real. His dad didn’t know it was him under the mask.

 

Peter wished that he could tell his dad.

 

That the suit had been built for Peter and not some guy his dad thought he didn’t know very well.

 

The ride to the airport, waiting for him to be called out and assist…it was all kind of painful and happy all at the same time. Peter was so giddy to be there. So pleased his father had asked for his help, but he wasn’t naïve. He knew if his dad had known it was him under the mask he would never have been called in. Peter sat crouched, watching as the adults he had known most of his life talked. Argued…And suddenly Peter wasn’t so happy or impressed to be there.

 

He was sorry.

 

But he knew he had to prove himself. He had to show his dad what he could do, even if he didn’t know it was Peter, because one day he would, and he needed his father to see what he was capable of.

 

“Underoos!”

 

That was him.

 

Peter swung in, snatched Cap’s shield, and landed. He swayed only in the slightest, the pull of the suit odd and different from that of his other one. But his father had built it and it was perfect, it was absolutely _perfect_ and Peter focused his eyes on Cap in front of him. He didn’t look crazy…not like he was being manipulated or whatever his father had said. He looked completely normal, hands now wrapped in the webbing from Peter’s webshooter.

 

“Nice job.”

 

His father wasn’t talking to Peter, he was talking to Spider-Man…But Peter still felt pride swell in his lungs.

 

“Thanks!” Peter exclaimed, forgetting to hold his odd tone for a moment, “Well, I could've stuck the landing a little better. It's just the new suit…Well, it's nothing, Mister Stark. It's-It's perfect. Thank you.”

 

He had nearly called his father ‘Dad’ again and he was going to have get better. It took too long to think, and if he slipped up…God the repercussions would suck. Peter turned to Cap, smiling under his mask and he wished he could show him everything he could do. Wished he could brag about how strong he was now, and how they were really similar. Instead he just greeted, “Cap…Captain…big fan, I’m Spider-Man.”

 

He could hear his father trying to get him to stop talking, but Peter just waved at the group, “Hey everyone.”

 

“You’ve been busy,” Cap commented, eyes staring pointedly at Peter’s dad.

 

“And you’ve been a complete idiot,” The man snapped, “Dragging in Clint. 'Rescuing' Wanda from a place she doesn't even want to leave, a safe place. I'm trying to keep… I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart.”

 

“You did that when you signed.”

 

Peter felt his heart drop into his stomach. He supposed he hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten, but the look on his father’s face turned into that of pain. Peter wanted to tell him it was going to be okay, because surely Cap would eventually sign whatever it was that his dad wanted him to. Surely thing would be okay, because even he and Ned argued sometimes but things always got better.

 

But instead of sounding hurt, his dad took a tone that was so similar to when he was scolding Peter, but much angrier, “Alright, we're done. You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us. _Now_! Because it's us! Or a squad of J-SOC guys…with no compunction about being impolite.”

 

Cap turned his head slightly, and Peter thought his dad was begging as he whispered, “Come on.”

 

Peter’s eyes narrowed as something sparked behind Cap’s eyes and he held his hands up. An arrow, seemingly out of nowhere came through the air and broke Peter’s webbing with ease. He saw his dad close his helmet and Cap ordered, “Alright, Lang.”

 

Air shot up Peter’s spine, his senses making his eyes widen below the mask.

 

“Hey guys, something – “

 

He didn’t get to finish. He was kicked in the fact, falling back against the car he was standing on as someone snatched Cap’s shield from his hand. Peter blinked, staring at the sky as he tried to focus the sudden blur that had flashed across his vision like an assault. Peter groaned, rolling over and everyone was moving, seemingly at once. Peter didn’t recognize everyone and he wished he had asked who was on their team. Obviously, the guy who kicked him in the face wasn’t, but the man dressed in a black-cat suit was running around and Peter wondered if he was supposed to punch him or not.

 

He pushed himself up to his feet and pressed into his com, “Mister Stark, what should I do?”

 

“What we discussed,” His dad responded, “Keep your distance and web ‘em up.”

 

“Okay, copy that!” Peter exclaimed as he shot out his webs.

 

Peter swung towards the terminal, mask scanning the outlines of two men running and Peter recognized one instantly as being Sam when he slammed against the glass, beginning to scurry across it and following their retreating forms. The other man, he recognized from the news footage as being the Winter Soldier.

 

Definitely not on their team.

 

Peter jumped outward, shooting his webbing and swinging through the glass. It shattered under his feet upon impact and he landed, kicking outward into Sam, mentally apologizing for the assault. He also had the urge to laugh, because it was kind of funny considering how much Sam teased him about being short and scrawny and suddenly he was stronger. Sam went flying and Peter turned, rearing back a punch towards the Winter Soldier, but he did the same, and Peter caught the fist in the air.

 

A shocked look flashed across the man's eyes and Peter exclaimed, “You’ve got a metal arm! That’s awesome dude!”

 

He forgot for a moment to shroud his voice, and he startled a bit at the way the Winter Soldier’s arm went lax. The man muttered, “…you’re a kid…?”

 

Peter didn’t get the chance to say anything. Sam slammed into him, sending him flying and Peter struggled in his hold for a moment, grunting, “You have the right to remain silent!”

 

It was all anxieties, bubbling up, making him talk. It helped with the fear, and not that he thought Sam would really hurt him, but he’d almost certainly tattle if he figured out who he was. He was risking that by speaking but the anxiety made him speak more. It was just a really bad concoction.

 

Peter shot outward, wrenching from Sam’s hold and landing on one of the metal beams before he jumped again to avoid a blast from Sam’s wrist. As soon as he landed, he felt that same cold breeze up his spine and whispered, “Oh God,” turning just in time to see a metal object flying towards his face from the Winter Soldier. Peter grabbed it and whirled around, a bit of frustration in his stomach.

 

“Hey buddy! I think you lost this!”

 

He sent it back towards the man, watching as he ducked behind one of the columns.

 

Sam slammed into his back, and Peter groaned as pain erupted in his chest and he shot another web, flying upward towards the ceiling. He then hit Sam’s pack with a quick blast of webbing and the man was sent down into the concrete floor, making Peter wince slightly in worry when objects shattered around him. But Sam got up, and Peter continued on, trapping the man against the railings behind him with two more web blasts.

 

Sam struggled and grunted, “Is this stuff comin’ out of you?”

 

“Are those wings carbon fiber?” Peter had never really questioned it before. Sam had only joined the Avengers after everything with Ultron, and Peter father tried his best to keep him away from the Compound as much as possible, “That would explain the rigidity-flexibility ratio, which, gotta say, that's awesome, man.”

 

“I don't know if you've been a fight before but there's usually not this much talking.”

 

Peter narrowed his eyes. His fights in Queens _always_ had this much talking.

 

“Aright, sorry,” Peter sounded a bit bitter, “My bad.”

 

Peter swung down, but just as he was about to make contact with Sam, the Winter Soldier jumped in front of him and took most of the impact. Both were sent over the balcony, slamming another floor below, and Peter shot the Winter Soldier’s arm in an attempt to keep him restrained as well.

 

“Guys, look. I'd love to keep this up, but I've only got one job here today and I gotta impress Mister Stark, so, I’m really sorry.”

 

Peter held out his hand, but suddenly, something latched on. Peter’s eyes shot wide, and he was dragged through the air, crashing out the window until he was suddenly dropped towards the ground screaming. He hit it with a _thwack_ , eyes shutting a moment as he tried not to vomit from the sudden roller coaster.

 

Great. Awesome.

 

He could hear remnants of fighting, filling the air, an explosion tearing through. Peter stumbled to his feet, slightly disoriented as he studied the field. Vision was standing in front of a small group, looking down on them, and Peter noticed how his own team was moving to stand behind him. Peter rushed forward, flipping in and landing in a crouch as he was surrounded by the others: his father, Uncle Rhodey, Nat, the guy in the cat-suit, and Vision.

 

Sam, the man who had kicked Peter in the face, Clint, Cap, Wanda, and the Winter Soldier were glaring at them from across the pavement. He wondered momentarily how long he had been on the ground for the Winter Soldier and Sam to have time to emerge from the terminal. Peter’s heart raced, and he swallowed thickly as Cap and the others beside him began to move towards them. Peter heard Nat mutter sarcastically, “This is gonna end well.”

 

It was grim, the entire stride towards each other. Peter kept glancing at his father, who continued forward as well and he just wanted…he wanted some kind of reassurance that things were going to be okay, but this wasn’t his father here. Not _here_ , at the airport, in a battle. This was the leader of their team…and they were fighting Cap’s team and Peter was struggling to shove down his fondness for the other members that they were rushing towards, because they were his friends. Outside of the mask, outside of being Spider-Man, he had known these people since he was ten.

 

“They’re not stopping,” Peter spoke anxiously, his voice coming out as his own, but he supposed his father was too deeply set in determination to notice, much to Peter’s relief. He had to stop slipping up.

 

The man replied, “Neither are we.”

 

And they ran.

 

Peter sprinted.

 

Then there was a whirl of movement and he thanked God he had his mask on, because the overload would have been insane as everyone started slamming into each other. He shot several webs towards Wands, which she deflected easily, and he was forced to jump into the air as she hurdled several vehicles at him. He wondered briefly why he got stuck with spider powers and not mind powers that would probably be so much more useful in that situation.

 

Once he was close enough, he tucked into a roll across the ground and commented, “That’s so unfair.”

 

“Fights aren’t generally fair,” Red surrounded his legs and they were ripped out from under him. He hit the ground on his back and by the time the world calmed down again, and he was on his feet, Wanda was already gone, across the expanse of concrete, throwing the cat-guy (Christ he needed to learn his name, since they were on the same team) into one of the shipping containers.

 

Peter jumped to his feet, running and swinging outward in an attempt to get to her before she could pick off yet another teammate of his, but the webbing suddenly snapped as something red and blue flew across his vision. Peter tucked and rolled, landing in a crouch a few feet up above what appeared to be Cap, and he pressed his elbow to his knee, trying to catch his breath. He was struggling to keep up with everyone. People were disappearing and reappearing and the suit was still new; he was still trying to get the hang of it. Plus, his throat was killing him from the pretend ‘adult’ voice he had been pulling and he was starting to lose grasp of what was happening.

 

“That thing does not obey the laws of physics at all,” Peter pouted. Everyone seemed to have a much better handle on their abilities than he did, and sure he had only had his abilities for about six months, but he thought…he should be better at it by now.

 

“Look kid,” Peter flinched…maybe the hoarseness in his voice was masking it enough to make it unrecognizable as Peter, but he certainly still sounded like a child, “There’s a lot going on here that you don’t understand.”

 

Peter’s eyes narrowed, “Mister Stark said you’d say that…wow.”

 

Not that specifically. But his father had briefed Peter…well – no – Spider-Man on Cap’s potential reasoning. Peter threw out one hand, webs attaching to Cap’s shield while his other hand attached to the man’s right ankle. Peter pulled, jumping down and sliding the two of them together, connecting his foot with Cap’s face as he swung through, sending the hero into one of the vehicles behind them. Peter continued to go by, rolling forward before he turned back around, close to the ground and called, “He also said to go for your legs!”

 

Cap stood, running towards his shield that had slid a few feet away. Peter jumped up, webbing himself to Cap’s arm, and then the other. Peter underestimated the other’s strength though and Cap whirled around, twisting into the air and yanking Peter forward. The teen flew several feet and he let out a shout of surprise. When he landed and found his footing again, he tried once more to shoot Cap’s shield, but Cap grabbed his webs, pulling. Peter flew again, this time his face connecting with the shield and yeah…Peter was definitely going to bruise after that.

 

He was slightly dazed, eyes burning and watering as he scurried away, shooting himself to the high ground on top of a shipping container. He had the urge to remove the mask and make sure his nose wasn’t going to start gushing, but most of the pain was radiating from behind his eye. Peter remained there, just as the man below questioned, “Stark tell you anything else?”

 

“That you’re wrong…and you think you’re right,” Peter breathed. There was something sour in saying that…no, that sounded more like his father sometimes and Cap had never been the type to be so vicious in his beliefs, “And that makes you dangerous.”

 

Peter jumped back, swinging down and around, attempting to make contact with Cap again. However, this time Cap kicked him instead and sent him into the metal beam holding the shipping container up. Just as Peter started climbing to his feet, Cap threw his shield into the beam, sending the container down and Peter had just enough time to catch it before it crushed him like an _actual_ spider.

 

“You’ve got heart, kid,” Cap smirked, shit eating, “Where’re you from?”

 

Peter grunted…unsure. He couldn’t very well say he lived in Manhattan and after all, he had been born in Queens.

 

“Queens,” Peter croaked under the weight.

 

Cap laughed, as he bounded away, “Brooklyn!”

 

A brief moment passed as Peter struggled to get the container off of himself. Eventually, he managed to shove it away, and he hoped to gather his bearings, but just as he stumbled out into the open, there was a light flash and out of the ground seemed to appear a much larger version of the man that had kicked him earlier for stealing Cap’s shield. Peter stepped away, grabbing both sides of his head as he exclaimed, “Holy shit!”

 

What was _happening_?

 

He had his Uncle Rhodey in his grip, and he reared back, throwing him. Peter’s eyes widened in horror and he started sprinting up a nearby ramp, exclaiming, “I’ve got him!” Before shooting out a line and nabbing his Uncle Rhodey. Peter used a truck to slow their momentum and his Uncle Rhodey blasted in the opposite direction, flying back towards the fight behind him just before hitting one of the nearby planes.

 

It was almost like watching Godzilla, as the man started destroying everything in sight.

 

Peter hitched a ride behind his Uncle Rhodey, shooting out and latching onto Giant-Man’s arm, swinging around in a few somersaults. Uncle Rhodey continued to fire on him as Peter tried his best to be a nuisance, to distract, to do _something_ useful in hopes that his dad might take notice of Spider-Man’s work. One day…one day his father would know it was him and he wanted the man to remember seeing that Spider-Man worked hard.

 

Peter landed on the giant’s lower back, hanging on for dear life as he continued his rampage of crushing things under his feet and hands. He slowly made his way over, climbing on the eye of the mask and peeking in at who was inside, eyes narrowing as he tried to get a glimpse. He was almost curious about the person…if he was human or not. Peter couldn’t remember ever seeing his face.

 

“Get off,” The man snapped.

 

Peter was swung off easily, just as Vision slammed into the man. Peter was somewhat thankful for that, because he sure was tired of being thrown around and he couldn’t see his father.

 

He heard crashing in the distance, and looked over, watching as one of the towers began to fall and figures ran underneath it. A giant hand distracted him though, and he was forced to start running when the stranger in the goggles noticed him again and Peter ran across the top of one of the airplanes, calling into the com, “Hey guys, you ever see that really old movie, _The Empire Strikes Back_!?”

 

_“Jesus Tony, how old is this guy?”_ Uncle Rhodey’s voice questioned and Peter cringed inwardly…right, his age was showing.

 

_“I dunno, I didn’t carbon date him, he’s on the young side!”_ His dad snapped.

 

Peter, instead of commenting, decided it was best to just go on with his thought process, “You know that part…where they’re on the snow planet…with the walking thingies!?”

 

But he was already carrying it out, wrapping the webbing around the giant’s legs.

 

_“Maybe the kid’s onto something,”_ He heard his father say, and Peter felt proud, smiling under his mask. Both his uncle and father flew upward, slamming their fists simultaneously into the mask above and the giant went toppling over, just like in Star Wars. Peter was somewhat relieved the plan worked out, since it had been his own and he came around the side, whooping in excitement and shooting a thumbs up towards their figures.

 

He just didn’t see the hand.

 

As he fell, the hand slammed into his side, and it sent him flying in the air. He felt his body hit the boxes, just barely, and skid across the ground, but the blow to the head had left him disoriented enough not to feel most of it. Sunlight left, briefly, and the sky was blue. He hadn’t noticed it was such a pretty day and for a moment, he felt like he was back at their old house in Malibu. The house from before, before it had been knocked into the ocean. Before Remy the Rabbit had gone bald from salt water. Before a lot of things.

 

It looked like California and he didn’t know Germany and California could share a sky, but he supposed in reality they did.

 

He groaned, rolling onto his side and the world faded. It was so brief, but he felt he could breathe better, like he was free of some kind restraint. The ground was cool, even though it was June. It didn’t feel warm under the sunlight. He felt comfortable, there, like he was just sleeping and his bones ached in the slightest, like after a long run.

 

Peter slipped off, then back on, then off again.

 

Then the cold ran up his back.

 

And at the time, it was confusing. At the time it made no sense. When he rolled over, a voice filtered in as it asked, “Hey, kid…you alright?”

 

Peter’s hands flew up, and someone grabbed his wrists, trying to restrain him.

 

He struggled only briefly, but then there was this…fire. Not real fire, but in the air, warning Peter that something was terribly, terribly wrong in the silence that followed. Because the voice was familiar, and Peter looked up, seeing the Iron Man suit first, then his father’s face and blackened eye. He was slightly happy to see him, up close, because he hadn’t in several days. But then Peter remembered where he was. He realized his father had a horrified, pale look on his face…

 

And Peter _realized_ his mask had slipped halfway off, exposing the right side of his face.

 

There was this…moment…or at least Peter thought it was a moment. It could have been hours or minutes for all he knew, but it felt very brief and long at the same time, if something could feel as such. Like he was being stuck under freezing water in the middle of December. Like the entire world had come crashing down. He hadn’t seen his father look so terrified since Pepper had fallen. But this was worse, because this was aimed at him.

 

This was Peter’s fault.

 

There was no air.

 

Nothing.

 

Peter couldn’t breathe.

 

His father was holding his wrists and Peter attempted to pry him off, but the man spoke, and Peter froze in his struggles, “Peter…what the hell…”

 

He had said Peter, so it was real. Peter’s mask was no longer covering his face. The entire situation imploded, and Peter felt everything rush and he wanted to cry. Instead he just sat still, ignored the grip on his arms and he stuttered, “D-D-Dad it’s not…you gotta listen – “

 

But Peter didn’t know what he was going to say. It’s not what it looks like? That would have been stupid. It _was_ what it looked like. Peter was in the Spider-Man suit. He was in Germany, fighting, helping. And this was his father, shocked and pale, looking like a ghost in the open air and God, Peter was afraid. Not afraid of his father, but afraid of what was to come. Everything, in that split second, was ripped away. Every plan of one day telling his dad that he was Spider-Man, all of it, just because he had been hit by a stupid hand.

 

His father reached out, releasing Peter’s wrists and he yanked the mask off his head, as if to make sure.

 

Peter held up his hands in surrender. He had been found out. Caught. Something out of a Scooby-Doo episode.

 

He was Spider-Man.

 

Then the fear turned to anguish, and his dad looked at him like he was… _broken_.

 

He spoke through gritted teeth, eyes shining and Peter’s body trembled under that gaze, “What are you _doing_? What is this? Peter, what did you _do_!?”

 

Peter just stared in shock. He couldn’t remember the last time his father had sounded so hurt. The man’s eyes kept moving into the distance and there had to be something else going on with the other heroes. Peter couldn’t find any words other than, “You don’t understand…you-you just gotta let me explain, I can tell you – “

 

But his father was jumping to his feet and he snapped, “You’re right, and you _will_ tell me. You’ll tell me as soon as all of this is over! I’m calling Happy to come get you, you get out of that suit right now, get out of it!”

 

The words were almost nonsensical as his dad flew away.

 

Peter collapsed backward…trying to breath.

 

But he cried instead.

 

…

 

Happy was…less than kind when he picked him up.

 

It was like an explosion within every adult in Peter’s life had been set off. As if he was no longer a factor, but Spider-Man was just a villain. Every good thing Peter had done to try to build up his reputation, to make his persona acceptable to those he loved, had gone down the drain in a matter of seconds. Like the moment everyone found out it was Peter under the mask, it was wrong. That just didn’t make sense to Peter…It made no sense at all.

 

Peter had stripped out of the suit, like he was ordered to do, the second they returned to the hotel. He showered, and put the suit back into the silver brief case from which is came and he curled under the blankets of the hotel bed, wrapping them tightly around himself as he tried to fight the building anxiety. He hadn’t heard anything else about the fight or what was happening. No one called to update. No one told him. He was just left in the dark…alone…

 

He struggled. Peter tried, hour after passing hour to wrap his head around the fact that he had been exposed, by a stupid giant, but it didn’t make any sense. A sore throat for nothing, because his father had still figured out who he was.

 

The man still knew.

 

It was nearing eight in the morning when the door to his hotel room opened. Peter sat straight up, half expecting to see his father, but instead Happy appeared. He was fully dressed, much to the boy’s surprise and the light switched on without warning. Peter blinked blearily, burning, and then focusing as the man ordered, “Up. We’ve gotta go.”

 

“What?” Peter questioned blearily, “Why?”

 

Happy was quiet. Something…grim flashed across his features and Peter felt his chest constrict suddenly. Happy walked towards him, arms crossing over his chest as he cleared his throat and spoke slowly, carefully, “There was…an accident.”

 

Peter threw his blanket off, “Dad - !”

 

“Your dad is fine,” Happy put both hands on Peter’s shoulders, “It’s…It’s Rhodes. He fell, and he’s…pretty banged up. They’ve got him at a hospital about forty-five minutes from here with some of the best doctors, but Tony wants us there. He wants to talk to you, ASAP.”

 

Peter swallowed thickly.

 

He must have looked terrified because Happy let out a slow breath, “You gotta face him eventually, kid.”

 

“He’s so mad,” Peter all but whimpered, “He’s so mad at me, Happy. A-And now Uncle Rhodey…And I…”

 

Peter’s voice cracked and a tear slipped through, “I’m so scared…he’s gonna think I’m a freak. He’s gonna think…Happy I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t make me go, please…I-I can’t see him yet.”

 

Happy leaned down, and Peter had never heard the man speak so gently as he said, “Kid, that man could never think you’re a freak. What you did…it was really bad. You’re going to be in a lot of trouble, but he still loves you. Always will.”

 

He then patted Peter’s shoulder and ordered, “Pack up. We leave in ten minutes.”

 

Peter ultimately did as he was told, mostly because there was nothing else he could do. Once he had everything put away and had managed to hobble out the door and down to the car waiting, Peter braced himself for the hospital. For what was to come. The fact was, if Uncle Rhodey was hurt, his father was probably on the verge of a mental breakdown. It was no coincidence he was rushing to have Peter come to him rather than wait for when he had the chance to see Peter himself.

 

The hospital was bustling, crawling with medical personnel and a nice woman in a white coat led Peter most of the way down the hallways, Happy having stayed in the car like a coward. Peter had his hands shoved deeply into his jacket pockets as they turned corner after corner and eventually stopped, and Peter could see two figured at the end of the hallway, standing in front of a giant window.

 

One was Nat…And one was his father, arm tucked into a sling.

 

The woman smiled at him before leaving. She had no idea…she didn’t know, so Peter smiled back a little bit. Just as he started to approach the two adults, Nat turned away from Peter’s father, beginning to storm away, anger etched into her features. As the two of them crossed paths, she paused just momentarily, the anger switching to pity, then to blankness as she continued on without a word to him.

 

Then, there were two.

 

Peter’s father didn’t notice him until he was rather close. Then suddenly, he was being looked down on, studied, scrutinized, and Peter bit his lip with anxiety. He expected a scolding, right there in the middle of the hallway, but to his shock, his father grabbed him by his arm with his good hand and dragged him towards a nearby room. Peter didn’t fight, but his mind raced with shock as his father was so rough with his movements and Peter found himself standing in front of a large glass window, watching as a man – Uncle Rhodey – was being examined by a machine.

 

“You see that?” His dad growled, and Peter tore his eyes away from his uncle and looked at the ground as his father continued to grip his arm, as if trying to burn the information into his mind, “Do you _see_ that? _That_ is what this kind of work has to offer you. Do you get that? Getting hurt beyond repair, is that what you want? Is that the kind of life you want?”

 

Peter took in a shaky breath, unable to speak. Tears were forming in his eyes and he just wanted to run. He didn’t want to be there, and he wished he had begged Happy more fiercely not to make him go to the hospital in the first place. Had this been his father’s plan all along? To scare him into not being Spider-Man?

 

Peter was then turned, and instead of looking through the glass, he was facing his father. He blinked back more tears as he looked up at the man, his lower lip shaking. His father’s eyes looked like they were on the verge of tears too, despite his voice sounding so fierce. He questioned, no softness, “How’re you doin’ it, huh? C’mon, tell me. Adhesive gloves? But that doesn’t explain the strength. How’re you _doing_ it, Peter?”

 

So, he didn’t know…His father didn’t know…

 

He didn’t know Peter was a freak.

 

Peter reached out and grabbed the edge of his father’s leather jacket. He couldn’t speak past the clog in his throat, like teary-pain slicing through him. His chest hurt, and he felt incredibly ill, right there in that room. Peter whispered, “It’s _me_ …I’m doing it…I-I’m…”

 

He couldn’t.

 

“Please, don’t make me say it,” Peter pleaded, “Don’t make me say it.”

 

_“I’m a monster. Mutated. Wrong.”_

_“I’m trying to help people…I’m trying to be like you.”_

The anger gave way a bit. Just in the slightest. His father reached up with his good hand and pressed it to the side of Peter’s face. When the boy blinked again, several tears slipped through and his dad glanced at the glass towards Uncle Rhodey, then back at Peter. Suddenly, he looked horrified…horrified, but not with Peter, but with himself. Like he had torn into a child that was already on the edge of a precipice. Quickly, he wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulders and yanked him closed to him, tucking Peter’s head under his chin.

 

Peter hugged him back, sucking down the sobs. He wasn’t going to lose it, not there in the hospital. He heard his father murmur, “Alright…That was wrong of me. That was wrong, I’m sorry…”

 

He gripped the back of the man’s jacket under his fingers, a small sound escaping him as he tried not to cry anymore. It was just so hard sometimes, and when his dad pulled back, he wiped Peter’s tears away before he kissed the top of his head. Then he left…left to go do something that Peter didn’t know what…he never knew _what_. But Peter was left with Happy with plans to fly back home while his father continued to take care of business. And Peter could only assume that business had to do with finding Cap and the Winter Soldier.

 

…

 

Peter had never experienced true betrayal.

 

Sure, there had been Maya Hansen who had pretended to be on their side but was actually working for Aldrich Killian. There had been Obadiah Stane that had tried to murder his father. The thing was…Peter had been fairly young when all of that had occurred, the world had seemed so different then. There was good and there was bad and no in-between. Heroes were heroes and villains were villains and sometimes they hid behind masks.

 

So, this…this was something he couldn’t wrap his mind around.

 

Because Cap was a hero.

 

Nat, Wanda, Clint, Sam…hell even Ant-Man had been heroes (Peter had learned his name finally, the guy who had ultimately gotten him exposed).

 

When Peter’s father returned home…returned to New York, with his face black and blue and his suit practically destroyed from a fight that had broken out between him and Cap, and apparently the Winter Soldier…Peter felt a part of himself _die_. The part that had latched onto Cap…had idolized him…it shattered while he watched the doctors patch his father up in the tower. It shattered when Happy had told him that the Winter Soldier had murdered his grandparents and Cap had said nothing…

 

Peter hadn’t even spoken to his father yet, mostly because the doctors were there before the man had even arrived. The boy didn’t emerge from his hiding place until after all of them had filed out and his dad was left sitting on the couch in the living room.

 

Darkness shrouded their home. The sun had set, and the glow of the city was the only thing keeping them in any sort of light. His father had a glass in his hand and Peter knew he was drinking, but he’d allow it considering his father looked like he had just been put through a blender. Peter was already in his pajamas, though the time difference would probably have him messed up for a few days at least.

 

“Dad?” Peter whispered.

 

His father’s head snapped in his direction, and he looked up. He blinked several times, and Peter felt like the man looked disoriented. Not from the drinks, but maybe just from what had transpired. The only reason Peter knew about any of it was because his father had told Happy and Happy had relayed the information to him. His dad had probably expected him to be asleep and those suspicions were confirmed in the man’s response.

 

“What’re you doing up?”

 

Peter wrung his hands and sat down next to him on the couch, “C-Couldn’t sleep. I heard what happened…”

 

_Dad, your parents…God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry._

 

His voice died off and he looked down. There was nothing to say, really. His father was staring at him and some of the awareness returned to his eyes and Peter was tentative when he made eye contact again. The man had straightened up a bit, expression sobering from sadness into something of business. _This_ was business, all of a sudden. Peter felt his heart plummet.

 

“We need to talk,” His dad said as he set his glass on the table in front of them.

 

Peter didn’t have time to respond before he continued, “I need…I need to know how long. I need to know _how_. Don’t lie to me…don’t try to skim around it, you be honest with me, understand? Tell me the truth. Start from the beginning.”

 

The boy had known it was coming eventually, but he had hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. Not when his father had just gotten back from being beaten by one of his best friends. Peter imagined if Ned ever did such a thing and how heartbroken he’d be. Inconsolable. Peter looked at the wall across the room and whispered, “December…about three weeks before the breakup.”

 

It was funny how the breakup had become a marker in their timeline.

 

“December,” His dad echoed, “What happened in December?”

 

Peter git his teeth and fought the urge to groan in frustration. Words were hard, and Peter wasn’t good at this. His father had a way of softening things to seem less serious, but Peter didn’t know how without being funny or sarcastic. But this wasn’t funny, and Peter shut his eyes tightly and explained, “I went on a field trip to Oscorp.”

 

“You went to Oscorp?” His dad sounded…disbelieving, “You’ve never been to Oscorp, Peter I would’ve known – “

 

“I signed your name on my permission slip.”

 

Silence enveloped.

 

When Peter looked at his dad, the man was obviously fighting anger. His hands were shaking, but Peter didn’t know if that was from pain or rage. Peter shook his head, “It wasn’t meant to be outright disobedience…I forgot to ask and I _really_ wanted to go…t-to see their labs. I mean, Mom was a geneticist and…yeah…A-And we were having a tour and there was this room with spiders…”

 

Peter’s voice was wavering, bordering on hysterical.

 

“A spider bit me,” Peter concluded, “On my n-neck and then that was when I got sick with the ‘flu’.”

 

Peter blinked back tears and his father shook his head back and forth. He looked away from Peter, sucking in several deep breaths and Peter recognized it as a technique to control an outburst. His father held up his index finger and questioned, “You got bitten by a lab-spider, and didn’t think to tell _anyone_? And _what_ , you start being able to do these things and your first response is to dress up in a onesie and go out crime fighting?”

 

Peter’s chest quaked, “You don’t understand…I can _hear_ them, Dad. I can hear _everything_. Screaming and crying a-and just last week I heard a man hitting his wife, over and over and I stopped him. He was going to kill her, he had his hands on her neck…”

 

Peter voice tore, and the tears were falling freely as he held up his hands to his own neck in emphasis. His father looked shocked and Peter continued brokenly, “I can help these people. I _do_ help them…I see them in Queens and they know me…They depend on me, a-and…please Dad, you’ve gotta believe me, I can do this. If I don’t, who will?”

 

“It’s not your responsibility,” His dad argued.

 

Peter bit back, “I have the power to do something and if I do nothing I’m just as bad as the criminals.”

 

His dad kept shaking his head, “You’re fourteen. You’re not doing this, Peter, I won’t let you do this to your life.”

 

Peter gulped.

 

“I’m going to do it anyway.”

 

His father looked shocked, taken aback. Almost as if he had just been slapped in the face and Peter didn’t think he had ever so blatantly defied his father before. There was something off about it, and odd, and heavy. He always did his best to listen…to do as he was told but this…this was something Peter couldn’t _not_ do. He couldn’t not be Spider-Man. He couldn’t stop.

 

His dad started, “Excuse me?”

 

“I’m going to be Spider-Man,” Peter pressed, “I don’t care what you do, I’ll find a way. I’m going to help people. I’m going to keep patrolling and _helping_ and making a difference. You can’t stop me.”

 

Oh, and the anger was there. Every ounce of it showed in his dad’s features and maybe if this had been his grandfather, Peter would have been hit. Peter felt a bit of guilt in that…because his dad had just been betrayed by a good friend of his and now Peter was kind of turning on him as well. But it wasn’t fair. He had to be Spider-Man…he had to.

 

His dad leaned forward, “You are being…ridiculous.”

 

“Maybe,” Peter nodded, “But it’s my decision. And you know I’ll find a way, I always do. So, you can either support me…be a part of this and be informed…or you can fight me tooth and nail until the day I turn eighteen.”

 

Minutes ticked by.

 

His father’s gaze was like true iron, then. But Peter stared back because it was all he could do not to turn and run away. After a long time, his dad reached up and took his chin in his hand, gentler than Peter had expected out of someone that was fuming over their child deciding to rebel all of a sudden. His dad whispered, “I _can’t_ watch you get hurt.”

 

“How do you think I’ve felt my whole life?” Peter asked.

 

Something sparked behind his dad’s eyes. A revelation.

 

Truth.

 

“ _If_ I consider this,” The man breathed, “There are going to be rules. Strict rules, that you will follow to the ‘T’. Do you get that? If you slip up, privileges will be taken away.”

 

Peter’s jaw dropped…was his dad really…really giving in?

 

He explained, “First: You stop wearing that stupid onesie. You wear the suit I made so I can track you and make sure you’re not hurt. Second: There’ll be a curfew and if you break it you’re grounded and that’s not just Spider-Man privileges that you’ll lose, Peter privileges will be lost. Three: If I call, you pick up, _always_.”  

 

“Always,” Peter let out a puff of air, and it came out as a laugh of disbelief, “Always, Dad, always-always.”

 

His dad wasn’t smiling, but Peter was. The boy lunged forward, wrapping his arms tightly around the man’s neck, forgetting his injuries for a moment, but his dad didn’t complain. He could tell his dad wasn’t happy. Not in the slightest. That he was so _unhappy_ his head was probably going to explode after Peter went to bed. But in that moment…it was like Peter’s head was in the clouds.

 

When he pulled away, his dad went on, “I’m going to call Doctor Cho to come run some tests. I wanna see exactly what’s going on…what that spider did to you.”

 

That sounded less fun, but Peter didn’t argue.

 

His dad shook his head…

 

“Why Queens, Pete?”

 

Peter tilted his head. Why Queens? There were a lot of reasons.

 

“Queens…it belonged to Mom,” Peter explained quietly, “I was born there. She was gonna raise me there and she obviously loved it. I want it to be everything she dreamed it would be for me.”

 

His father’s shoulders relaxed. Something in his taut expression fell.

 

The rigidness in the room disappeared. No Spider-Man. No murdered grandparents. No friends who beat their other friends half to death…

 

Just them. Just Peter and his father.


	8. Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh I can't believe this is the second to last chapter guys! Gahhhh!!!! I'm so happy to get it posted though, and I hope you guys enjoy. Thank you to everyone who had continued reading so far, I know these are long, but you guys are awesome!!!

_September 2016_

Home wasn’t quite home anymore, and Peter didn’t know if that was corny, depressing, or maybe a little bit of both. Peter had lived in a lot of places, after all, and being the son of Tony Stark meant he had lived on both sides of the country…but ultimately…well, in the scheme of things, it just wasn’t fair. Something about being a kid, meant he got dragged around wherever they decided to go, and Peter was somewhat exhausted by it, both emotionally and physically.

 

Their new penthouse smelled like cleaner and fresh paint. It was kind of an odd place for his father to choose, the crown-molding and white walls seeming so fresh and elegant when his father always preferred places with a more futurist and technological feel. Peter had a feeling it was temporary after all, they had spent most of his summer living at the Compound, but because of school, his father had moved them back to the city.

 

Boxes lined the walls, the hard wood floors polished and bright in the wide-open space. There was a fireplace, open area, then the kitchen with marble counter tops that had never been used. In the far corner was a staircase, leading to a lower floor in which Peter knew they were bringing a small portion of his father’s lab equipment. Just enough to keep the man entertained through the school year but, if his father had gotten his way, Peter would be home schooled at the Compound to prevent such tedious measures.

 

The boy’s heart ached as he stared at the window, seeing the Tower in the distance. The Tower that was slowly but surely being stripped bare from the inside. His father had made the decision to sell, and there was a sort of betrayal in Peter’s bones over it. His father’s hatred harbored over the rogue Avengers, but Peter hadn’t thought the man would go as far as selling the Tower. Sure, there was the Compound, but the Tower had always seemed to be a beacon. Hope, floating over Manhattan.

 

But now, he guessed, it was only a sore reminder of what used to be. The rogue Avengers were gone, and Peter was still blurry on the entire thing. He knew they had gotten put in prison, that they had escaped, but his father didn’t like to be asked about it and Peter was just afraid to push it very far, especially with Ross having his father on edge over the whole Accords things. That still existed, and their former-friends were outlaws.

 

Peter missed them so much, sometimes it hurt.

 

He’d never tell his father that. The hatred brewed every time the man looked at Uncle Rhodey’s legs. Despite the fact that Uncle Rhodey was getting around fine now with his prothesis ones, Peter’s father had yet to let that anger fade into nothingness and it had been their fault after all. No talking, just fighting and Peter wished he had known more before running in, craving his father’s approval, because if he had known the results, he would have tried harder to talk it through.

 

But he wasn’t an adult. And adults didn’t generally hear children.

 

He held the edge of the window seal, before shutting his eyes a bit and humming quietly to himself to try and calm the pain in his left shoulder. Patrol the past several weeks had, had him distracted. He was struggling to keep up with that and the new school year, and all of the clubs he was involved in over the summer. He had already quit marching band, which was probably for the better before game season started. Robotics lab had only met a few times during the break, but Peter had quit that too.

 

That just left decathlon, and Peter was holding on by a thread at that point.

 

He had been texting Ned when the thugs had come up behind him and attacked. Peter was excusing yet another absence. Another cancelled plan, and his scapula was still suffering for it. That was when Peter found out the suit had some kind of built in monitoring device, because it had alerted his father that he had been struck. Peter had yet to figure out exactly what kind of devices were in the suit, but he planned to eventually when he found the time and will power.

 

“Admiring the view?”

 

Peter glanced over his shoulder. Pepper was there, hands folded neatly. He felt the initial surprise and despite Pepper being around again for a month, Peter almost expected her to disappear again. He feared it honestly, even if her relationship with his father was currently sailing smoothly, and things were fine, they were healing…it was still…odd.

 

It had been after she had found out about Siberia that things had rekindled. Peter remembered her coming to the tower, angry, so upset that Peter’s father hadn’t called her and there had been yelling, Peter was almost sure, but then he had caught them kissing and – yeah – _gross_. It had only continued from there, and despite things seeming pretty permanent, and the plan was that Pepper would stay with them when she wasn’t away on business, Peter still feared her disappearance. The threat of another break up. About six months without her had been bizarre indeed.

 

“Nothing beats the view of the tower,” Peter replied simply, “Not even super nice penthouses.”

 

She shook her head, smiling, “So much like Tony. Can’t appreciate a skyline if it isn’t framed by a high-tech lab. Don’t worry, there’ll be one downstairs and it’ll be fully operational in the next few days. And they’ll have Friday up and running in no time.”

 

While Peter loved Friday, there was something relieving about not having his AI babysitter watching him. Freeing, almost. His father was going to be in India for the next two weeks and as much as Peter had wanted to go with him – had wanted to see where the bird cufflinks had come from – school awaited. Supposedly it was for business, but Peter had an inkling the man just needed some time to himself.

 

Patrols were supposed to be a bit more limited while his father was gone, and the suit no doubt would still babysit him, but Peter could only hope his dad would be busy.

 

Pepper was going to be with him, until his father got back, but he knew she’d be working as well. It seemed the older he got, the more they were gone, and it was weird. Peter knew it was because when he was younger his dad didn’t like leaving him, and even more so now because of Peter patrolling, but the man had done it anyway. Sometimes Peter felt particularly guilty for the anxiety he caused his father. It seemed needless sometimes. Needless and horrible. But Spider-Man wasn’t needless.

 

It had to be that way.

 

“You excited for school tomorrow?” Pepper questioned, looking through some of the boxes. Peter raised an eyebrow and she raised one in return, pretending not to read his mind.

 

Peter rolled his eyes and answered, “Oh yeah, I’m super excited to be chained to a desk for eight hours a day again when I could be out there helping people.”

 

Pepper sighed, and shook her head, “Part of the deal with Tony was that you’d focus on school, Peter, not…Spider-Manning. It’s how you keep your privileges.”

 

Peter poked out his lip, slightly in a pout as he opened his mouth to argue, but the look Pepper gave him told him she didn’t want to hear it. Instead he moved forward and started rifling through the box she was going through, just as she pulled an old-raggedy rabbit out and smiled widely, exclaiming, “Ah Remy! I didn’t realize he was still with us.”

 

He took the rabbit quickly, pouting again. The rabbit’s hair was rough, ever since being sunken into the ocean when their Malibu home had been destroyed. Years of wear and tear had done a number on him. When Peter looked back up, Pepper was smiling softly at him and Peter questioned, “What?”

 

“Nothing,” Pepper shrugged, “Just…the first night you stayed with your dad, you woke him up in the middle of the night because Remy wasn’t there, he was still with your foster parent at her place. He texted me _very_ frazzled and I assume you were just devasted.”

 

Peter blinked, hands squeezing tightly on Remy, “I don’t remember that.”

 

“Oh, I wouldn’t think so…You were only four.”

 

Peter bit his lip as Pepper continued digging through the boxes, “But…I do remember something…”

 

She paused briefly, and Peter continued, “Dad got…shot, didn’t he? When I was small?”

 

Pepper looked taken aback. Like she hadn’t been expecting that at all. Peter wanted her to say yes or no, because it was something he always struggled to get out of his father. The man would rarely talk about it, but Peter’s interest had peaked recently, especially after everything with the Winter Soldier.

 

“There was a man,” Peter continued, “He made my mom really upset one night, and he had this tattoo… _Hydra…_ Did they shoot my dad in front of me? Did they take me?”

 

Pepper shut her eyes and tilted her head slightly, “I think you should ask your dad that.”

 

“Dad isn’t gonna tell me,” Peter replied, “But I’m going to take that as a ‘yes’…so that means the same people who took me, killed my grandparents right? And they killed my mom and other dad?”

 

Pepper’s expressions blanched, “Peter, that’s a very intricate web of things that I…I can’t say. Why are you bringing this up now?”

 

“Because Dad’s parents,” Peter replied, “A-And Dad blames the Winter Soldier for his parents dying, but I’m starting to think…well, maybe it wasn’t Mister Barnes’ fault, you know? I mean, if Hydra did all that to our family, t-they hurt Mister Barnes too – “

 

Pepper reached out and took his hand, “Peter, what happened between your father and those two men…was completely out of your control and so is the cleanup that will follow. You shouldn’t be worrying yourself over their…fit.”

 

Peter grimaced, but his mouth shut.

 

Perhaps Pepper wasn’t the one to ask. Her loyalty to Peter’s father was unfaltering and his questions were questions she didn’t feel in place to answer sometimes.

 

…

 

“What’s up, Penis!”

 

Flash had apparently returned to school with a brand-new car. A car that Peter had nearly met the underside of, if he hadn’t jumped out of the way in time. As the car skidded off, Peter stared up the sky in frustration, already tempted to just turn around and walk out of the school grounds. Maybe get a taxi home or something, since Happy had been the one to drop him off. As much as he had missed their morning antics, Peter was less than thrilled to be back. He loved Midtown, deeply, but there was more to do. More to be.

 

More. Peter could be more than just a high school student.

 

But he wasn’t that day, as he squeezed through the crowded halls, almost cringing when he heard the morning announcements and Jason had apparently subtly tried to ask Betty to homecoming. It was not how he wanted the morning to go, but he hadn’t imagined much different while he put in his locker combination and opened it, slipping his coat off and pulling out several of his books.

 

“Join me and together…we’ll build my new Lego Death Star!”

 

Peter glanced and on his shoulder, was a tiny figurine of Emperor Palpatine. Peter whirled around excitedly and questioned, “What?”

 

Several of the girls next to them scrunched their faces up, almost as if in disgust. Peter resisted the urge to crawl into himself, cheeks burning only slightly, because he had sort of adjusted to the stares since preschool. Being the son of Tony Stark either invited judgement or admiration and often the admiration was misplaced to his father rather than Peter, so the boy was careful with who he made friends. But those girls seemed less than impressed as he lowered his voice.

 

“That’s awesome, how many pieces?”

 

 “Three thousand eight hundred and three.”

 

“That’s _insane_.”

 

“I know!” Peter started to shut his locker as Ned went on, “So, you wanna build it tonight?”

 

Peter turned and glanced at him, a familiar guilt bubbling, “I can’t tonight, my dad’s – “

 

“Mhm. Internship,” Ned interrupted, “Always got that internship. You know, considering he’s your dad, you’d think you could, I dunno bump you up to CEO and just boot Ms. Potts right on out of there…or well, I guess since they’re back together, that’d be bad. But at least bump you to COO. Technically speaking, the company is partly yours.”

 

Peter scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, glancing at the lockers. It was weird, because Ned was on this spectrum of thinking about the company and sure, one day Peter supposed he would be expected to learn more about it, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted the Avengers world, the part of the company people sometimes forgot to include, because Iron Man and Tony Stark seemed so different out there in the world. It was the same with Ned. Ned saw Tony Stark as Peter’s dad and Iron Man as a superhero. Two separate entities.

 

Peter stuttered, “We-Well, you know…I don’t want to just bust in at the top, that’s not fair. Some people…some people have been there a really long time. It’s only expected that I work my way up, then eventually get paid and stuff.”

 

Ned chuckled, “I’m just saying, these people you’re working for could be working for you and you’re only fifteen. It’s nuts.”

 

He gulped, “Yeah…nuts.”

 

Honestly, he knew Ned was still talking. Something about knocking the bones of the Death Star out at his place or something like that. But the moment Liz appeared out in the open, glancing back at her friends and tucking her hair behind her ear and…yeah Pete had zoned out. A new plane of existence really, and he floated away before the bell rang and he snapped back into his body full force, without warning.

 

“That’d be great,” Peter whispered.

 

It wasn’t that Peter hadn’t seen pretty girls before, but Liz was a different kind of pretty girl. It wasn’t just because she was a senior and something about that was appealing, or even that she was a ‘pretty girl’. She was a smart girl. A natural born leader, being the captain of the decathlon team. All traits that drew Peter to her. Her confidence, her smiles, her intelligence, the way she was nice to everyone. It was captivating.

 

The bell rang. His first class of the day was physics, a preference of his. But he spent most of the class watching videos of himself, trying to calculate how he could maybe increase his speed in order to affect his force on objects. Stopping a bus was one thing, but what if one day he needed to stop a rocket? Very unlikely, but it could happen. After dealing with the Donut villain a few weeks ago, robbing donut shops in Queens dressed _as a donut_ well…he was starting to plan ahead.

 

Most of his day was spent staring at clock after clock and working on his web fluid in class. There were labs at his disposal, but those labs were monitored by his father and sometimes his dad gave input that Peter wasn’t looking for. Part of being Spider-Man was being independent and since he already had to rely on his father for the suit, he sort of wanted to produce his own webbing if he could. It was dangerous in class, the risk of getting caught arrived in intervals, but it was a willing risk.

 

Possibly the bigger risk was admiring Liz at lunch, but Michelle popped that bubble really quick. She had a way of doing that, and Peter sometimes wondered where she came from. He had seen her through the summer at the decathlon practices, and sometimes she’d randomly show up while he and Ned were having burgers at the downtown diner. The semester before she had done the same thing…show up at their lunch table with her books.

 

She claimed it was because she had no friends, but Peter thought that was a lie.

 

The day was flying fast, but decathlon practice had put a stop to that rather suddenly when Mister Harrington decided to sit him down for a conversation while the others continued being drilled by Liz.

 

“Peter…it’s nationals. Is there no way you could take the weekend off?”

 

“I can’t go to Washington,” Peter breathed, “Because if my dad needs me, then I have to make sure I’m here.”

 

Truth was, if he left for an entire weekend, that was an entire weekend anyone could run around Queens doing God knows what. And in doing God knows what, donuts might be stolen or people could be mugged and they were relying on Peter to protect them. He couldn’t just go off and have a good time when he had responsibilities to take care of…Especially not for a whole weekend. Who would walk the drunk college students home?

 

“Please,” Flash scoffed from across the room, “What does your dad need you for? Sharpening pencils? I can’t imagine him trusting a fifteen-year-old with anything important.”

 

Peter blinked, but ignored Flash’s jab. It kind of hurt actually, because his father struggled to trust Peter with much, especially with Spider-Man. Hence why the suit was probably baby-proofed somehow. How it had known he had gotten hurt and he didn’t know why. Why his father seemed to always know where he was. Frustrating. Completely and totally frustrating and Flash was digging knives in that he didn’t even know existed.

 

“Wait, what’s happening?” Cindy called from the stage.

 

Sally replied, “Peter isn’t going to Washington.”

 

“No,” Cindy insisted, “No, no, no.”

 

Abraham rung the bell abruptly, “Why not!?”

 

“Really?” Liz asked, making Peter’s heart flutter slightly, noticing she was looking directly at him and almost instantly he forgot about Spider-Man duties and caved when she went on, “Right before Nationals?”

 

Michelle muttered, “He already quit robotics lab and marching band…”

 

Everyone turned to stare at her and she snapped, “I’m not obsessed with him I’m just very observant.”

 

Liz called over her shoulder, “Flash, you’re in for Peter.”

 

“Gosh I dunno, I gotta check my calendar. I’ve got a hot date with Black Widow coming up.”

 

Peter narrowed his eyes. He ignored Abraham shouting ‘that is false!’ fighting the urge to inform Flash that Black Widow could literally choke him to death with her thighs. She probably wouldn’t even have to lay a hand on him, Flash would crumble up from a simple glare and turn of her head, but Peter said nothing. Instead he turned back towards the clock, wishing it would go faster, that he could leave sooner. In the grand scheme of things, Washington didn’t matter. None of it mattered. School, robotics lab, marching band, decathlon. Spider-Man mattered. Spider-Man made a real difference.

 

Spider-Man helped people, not Peter, not some high school kid who feared bullies.

 

He wasn’t freed until 2:45 when the final bell of the day rang and Peter rushed through the double doors, making a large leap over the fencing around the school. He made sure to stop at Delmar’s for his afternoon sandwich (the school lunches really didn’t do it for him, with his increased metabolism, he almost always got the sandwich before patrolling).

 

And then Peter was _free_.

 

Being Spider-Man was the closest thing to freedom Peter knew. It wasn’t that he felt particularly trapped in his life, with his father, but his father had always been overprotective. Now that Peter was stemming back to his childhood though, questioning memories, Peter was starting to understand some of it now. If what he remembered was true, Peter’s life had been bringing his father anxiety before he was old enough to remember. It just wasn’t quite vivid enough for him to latch onto though and he couldn’t explain it away. He didn’t know enough about Hydra or his mother and step-father to question much more.

 

They had somehow ended up dead. Peter had been taken. His dad had been shot and Peter’s father must have fallen into some kind of protective black hole where Peter was left to lie in for the rest of his life. It was a wonder Peter’s father had even allowed Spider-Man in the first place, but maybe Peter’s determination to continue had been enough to scare him into compliance.

 

It wasn’t a bad evening all things considered. He had stopped a grand theft bicycle, gotten a free churro, and despite screwing up and webbing a guy to his car, Peter felt particularly accomplished. There was still the overwhelming feeling though. The one that said he could be doing more, accomplishing more, helping more. But he resisted the urge to call his father. He resisted it because he didn’t want to come across as whiny or needy. He was trying to be more adult. He was trying to be a grown-up because the sooner that happened, the more responsibility his father would allow him to take on. And whining wouldn’t get him that.

 

Then the sun went down, and the Avengers came out.

 

Well, not the real Avengers. Some cheap knock offs, walking into an ATM, but Peter hopped to his feet in an instant, excitement bubbling in his stomach as he took off towards them down below. Peter muttered quietly, “Finally, something good.”

 

He landed right outside the door, the sun disappearing completely behind the buildings and enveloping him in the soft glow of the night lights. None of the men noticed him through the glass, their backs turned, and attention focused on the ATM in front of them. Peter’s brows tugged together under his mask while he watched one of the men saw through the metal with some kind of gadget that had a purple hue to it.

 

He moved out of the way, before another man with a _blue_ machine began to practically pull the front of the ATM out of the wall, and it floated away in front of him. That was…definitely not normal, Peter assumed, opening the door softly while they started emptying the contents, money in clumps being piled into bag after bag. Peter shut the door as softly as he could behind himself, leaning against the wall awkwardly, unsure of what to say to the group as they hadn’t noticed him yet…An odd lot.

 

“Ahem,” Peter cleared his throat, trying to find something quirky in order to hide the building nervousness, “What’s up guys? Forgot your pin number?”

 

Their heads snapped up, the faces of Iron Man, Thor, Hulk, and Captain America staring back at him. Peter fought the urge to cackle, exclaiming, “Woah! You’re the Avengers! What’re you guys doing here!?”

 

The guy in his father’s mask pulled the shotgun pump back, aiming it him as he stepped forward. Peter shot out his webbing and snatched the weapon before slamming it into the side of both Iron Man and Thor’s heads. Thor got up rather quickly, and Peter grabbed his elbow, redirecting his punch into Hulk’s face, continuing to speak, “Thor, Hulk, missed you guys. It’s been a while! Too long!”

 

Peter jumped upward, latching onto the ceiling as he grabbed Thor with his feet and slung him into the wall behind him. Peter hung, upside-down and he called over his shoulder to the crumpled body on the floor, “You look less handsome, do people age poorly in Asgard or something?”

 

Peter whirled back around just in time to dodge a punch to the face from Iron Man and Peter couldn’t help but grin under the mask, “Iron Man! What’re you doing robbing banks, you’re a billionaire!”

 

He would have made a dad joke if it wouldn’t have given his identity away. Peter threw him off, sending him into Hulk behind him just as Captain America stood to his feet, the blue weapon in his hands. Peter attempted to lunge at him, but the blue weapon latched onto him and Peter felt a strange weightlessness lift him off the ground. Peter’s eyes widened considerably, the odd sensation making him a bit nauseous.

 

Peter garbled out, “Oh, this feels so weird!”

 

He was thrown back, knocking two of the goons down in the process and just as he tried to get up, he only managed to shout, “What is that thing!?” Before the blue enveloped him again and he was slammed from the floor to the ceiling over and over again without much remorse, words coming out in clumps, “I’m starting…to think…you’re not…the Avengers!”

 

Peter stuck his hand to the floor when the machine tried to lift him again and he shot his webbing against a cabinet behind Captain America, sending it into the back of the man’s head. He flew to the floor and Peter was finally released from the blue light. Money started flying around the room, and Peter ordered, “Alright guys, let’s wrap this up, it’s a school night!”

 

Iron Man lifted the blue weapon again and Peter stuck it to the wall, jumping over and grabbing the man’s mask, beginning to remove it slowly, questioning, “How did jerks like you get tech like this?”

 

Unfortunately, Hulk decided that was the time to power up the purple weapon, aiming it right at Peter and Iron Man. Peter jumped away, shouting, “Wait, wait, wait, AH!”

 

It shot out a ray of… _something_. Peter was slung through the window, as glass shattered around him and a piece dug nicely into his forearm. The purple ray shot around the room, blasting into the building next door. He stumbled to his feet, turning around with a shocked expression under the mask. He could feel the eyes widen on his mask as he looked across the street towards the deli, fire erupting from its windows. Peter breathed, “Mister Delmar.”

 

He rushed over, jumping in through the window as he started shouting for the man. Really, through the haze, Peter was surprised he found him and Murph-the-cat. The relief turned to guilt the moment he got them outside and out of the flames, and then self-hatred crawled in when he noticed the men across the street had made their escape. Peter glanced down briefly at his bleeding forearm, a piece of glass shimmering in the light.

 

Great. Awesome.

 

…

 

Peter was dreading getting back to the penthouse for a few reasons.

 

Reason number one: He was late. Not that he was completely concerned, because Friday wasn’t there to tattle, but if Pepper was already home he was bound to be in trouble. Reason number two: He had homework. Despite it being the first day of school, his teachers still refused to be merciful. And reason number three: He was not going to enjoy digging the glass out of his forearm for an _abundant_ amount of reasons.

 

He knew he needed to call his father and tell him about the weird tech the guys were using, but considering the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be out so late on a school night, Peter just thought he might as well wait until the next day to inform his father. It was a risky thing, but the man was in India anyway. India was about ten and a half hours ahead, which meant it was maybe six in the morning where his dad was. Whether or not his father was asleep was up for debate, but Peter wasn’t going to risk it and it made a good excuse.

 

Peter climbed in through the window, as silently as possible, just in case Pepper was somewhere in the penthouse. His hands stuck easily to the ceiling as he crawled carefully towards the door, heart racing and arm burning while he shut it and eventually lowered himself to the ground slowly, landing with a soft thump.

 

And then he turned.

 

The world imploded.

 

A shocked expression. A Death Star shattering onto the floor beside his bed.

 

_A Ned sitting on his freaking bed (Ned what the **shit** are you doing here!?)_

Ned jumped to his feet, and Peter lunged forward, mouth agape. Peter didn’t know what to say, and suddenly he thought maybe his arm was bleeding more than he had originally assumed because it felt like the floor was shifting below his feet. Ned’s eyes were bulging out of his head and they just looked at each other…just stared for several beats of silence and Peter didn’t know if he should start stripping out of his suit or throw himself out the window or what –

 

“You’re Spider-Man.”

 

Stripping it was.

 

Peter pressed the spider on his chest, the suit going loose and he let it fall to the floor, arguing, “I’m not, I’m not - !”

 

“You were on the ceiling!”

 

“I wasn’t, Ned! What’re you doing in my room!?”

 

“Ms. Potts let me in before she left for a business dinner!” Ned exclaimed, sounding defensive, “You said we were gonna finish the Death Star!”

 

No, no he distinctly remembered saying he couldn’t. Peter felt warm sliding down his fingers and looked to see his arm was still bleeding. He grabbed a nearby shirt that was discarded on the floor before he wrapped the wound tightly, and Ned looked about ready to faint at the sight of blood on the floor, reaching back and grabbing the bed for support. Peter rushed forward and argued, “You can’t just bust into my room!”

 

“I wasn’t busting in!” Ned argued, “You’re bleeding! W-Why’re you bleeding? Dude you’re Spider-Man, of course you’re bleeding, did a bad guy stab you?! Holy shit, should I call Ms. Potts – “

 

“No, no, no, no,” Peter waved his good arm around madly before returning pressure to the shirt and the wound, “She’ll freak out if I even have a tiny scratch and then I’ll freak out and…it’s just glass a-and…Christ, Ned what the _hell_?”

 

Ned shook his head, running his hands through his hair, “I-I can’t believe this, my best friend is Spider-Man. Your dad lets you do this? Are you guys just like, a family of super heroes? Like the Incredibles? Is Ms. Potts a hero too or something?”

 

“Yes, yes, my dad lets me do this,” Peter breathed, speaking frantically, “But he won’t if he finds out I can’t handle keeping it a secret anymore!” 

 

Peter cringed when pain ran up his arm and he huffed in frustration. It was in that moment that his cellphone screamed to life, sounding out from the crumbled suit on the floor, somewhere lost in the belt. Peter recalled he had forgotten his backpack in the alley, so that sucked and he lunged for the cellphone, ignoring as Ned continued to mutter nonsense. He narrowed his eyes on the screen, before they widened.

 

His dad.

 

Peter looked back at Ned and ordered sharply, “Pretend you’re not here. You’re not supposed to know about Spider-Man and I’m sure that’s why he’s calling.”

 

Ned nodded frantically, mouth snapping shut as Peter pressed the phone to his ear and answered, “Hello?”

 

_“I love waking up at six in the morning to an alert that my child has been marred, don’t you?”_

Peter narrowed his eyes on the suit. It was like having a non-vocal Friday. Always tattling on him and stuff. Jarvis had been much more understanding. Peter ran his free hand through his hair, only flinching when the glass dug a bit like it had done just a few moments before. He shook his head back and forth, “It’s not bad, Dad – “

 

_“It was bad enough to trigger the sensors in the suit. What happened?”_

The boy glanced at Ned who was just staring, mouth still set into a line. Peter responded, “Got thrown through a window…some glass dug into my arm…But Dad, listen! These guys were crazy, they had like, this weird alien tech or something and they were using it to rob an ATM – “

 

_“I’ve got a better question: why were you even out? We agreed on seven for school nights.”_

“Nothing happens before seven!” Peter’s voice went shrill, “And did you even hear me about the weapons!? T-They practically blew Delmar’s to smithereens a-and they were wearing Avengers masks and I guess that doesn’t really pertain to this, b-but it was nuts!”

 

_“I don’t care about the weapons, Peter. I care about the fact that I leave for a few weeks and you’re already breaking the rules. Do I need to rush having Friday installed so I can keep a better eye on you? Should I ask Pepper to cancel all of her plans just so someone can be home to babysit you?”_

Peter’s face dropped into despair, “No! No…no, Dad, no I…I’m sorry, I won’t come home late on a school night again, I promise but…These guys were seriously loaded with some insane stuff.”

 

Maybe his dad could hear the way his voice dropped because there was a sigh on the other end of the line _, “I’ll have someone look into it…You said glass cut your arm?”_

“Yeah,” Peter croaked. Great, his eyes were burning. He made sure to turn his head away from Ned. He was just frustrated. Frustrated Ned had been in his room and frustrated Delmar’s had been ruined. He rubbed his eyes viciously and took a deep breath before he repeated a bit steadier this time, “Yeah I…yeah.”

 

_“Make sure to clean it out and bandage it…Don’t just rely on your healing, understand? Get it fixed up and go to bed…Pepper will check on you when she gets home.”_

“Yes sir,” Peter whispered.

 

_“Good…I love you.”_

“Love you,” Peter then hung up, looking back at Ned who had gotten some time to gather his bearings from the shock of seeing Peter in the suit. Peter questioned quietly, “Wanna help me dig glass out of my arm?”

 

“If I throw up you can never mention it again.”

 

“No promises.”

 

…

 

“A spider bit you!? On that field trip to Oscorp in December!? And you didn’t tell me!?”

 

Peter shook his head, carrying several books in his arms as they made their way down the street. He had convinced Happy to let him walk to school with Ned that morning instead of being brought all the way there so that he’d have time to explain things to his friend. After digging the glass out and dealing with Ned’s ultimate nausea that followed, he hadn’t had time to explain everything. And once Pepper had gotten home, Peter had been chewed out and Ned had left in a hurry to avoid Pepper’s scolding as well.

 

“In my defense, I didn’t tell anyone,” Peter replied.

 

“Can it bite me?” Ned questioned, “It probably would’ve hurt, right? I don’t care. Even if it did, I’d let it bite me…well, maybe…how much did it hurt?”

 

“A lot, and I got super sick afterward,” Peter scoffed, “Besides, the spider is dead, Ned. I smashed it after it bit me, like most logical people would.”

 

They stopped just before crossing the street into the intersection. Delmar’s was there, charred and damaged, blocked off by yellow caution tape surrounding the building. Peter felt a wave of guilt smash into him as Ned whispered, “Woah…you were here?”

 

“Yeah,” Peter muttered.

 

“You could’ve died…”

 

A pause…then Ned continued offhandedly, “Do you lay eggs?”

 

The wave of guilt was suppressed, and Peter felt laughter bubble up in his throat, “What? Noooo!”

 

The rest of the day was filled with questions from the other boy. Question after question and Peter was sort of annoyed by some, but others made him feel…like an actual hero. Like a true member of the Avengers. It was especially fun, telling Ned how he had stolen Captain America’s shield because something about that made him feel extremely proud of himself. Having gone toe-to-toe with the captain was one of the highlights of Peter’s life.

 

By the time they were forced to do sit-ups in gym though, Peter’s patience had begun to wane thin. Mostly because he was nervous about other people maybe listening in and Ned wasn’t very good at whispering. Ned was holding his feet as he went on bombarding Peter and Peter was trying to focus on making it look like he was struggling but sit ups had become chump work since the bite.

 

“You have to shut up.”

 

“Can I be your guy in the chair?”

 

Peter continued his sit ups as he snapped, “What?”

 

“Yeah, you know…the guy with the headset,” Ned explained, “He tells the other guy where to go. If you’re in a burning building, I could tell you where to go. There’d be screens around me and I could swivel around. I could be your guy in the chair!”

 

Peter grunted, “Ned, I don’t need a guy in the chair.”

 

The conversation died a bit, mostly because Peter’s hearing picked up the conversation going on behind him. But, maybe he didn’t need his hearing because Ned seemed to be interested in what the girls were saying as well, one of them being Liz. Peter paused in his sit ups as one of the girls said, “Well, see for me it’d be…F Thor, marry Iron Man, kill Hulk.”

 

Peter felt kind of grossed out by someone saying they’d marry his dad.

 

One of the other girls asked, “Well, what about The Spider-Man.”

 

Peter’s ears particularly perked up when Liz corrected, “It’s just Spider-Man. And did you see the bank security cam on YouTube? He fought off four guys!”

 

The blonde girl grinned, “Oh my God, she’s crushing on Spider-Man.”

 

“No way,” Liz denied… “Kind of!”

 

Peter looked at Ned with wide eyes, before turning back to face the girls. They continued to speak, and the moment Liz said she’d still love him, even if he was seriously burned, Peter felt something warm well in his chest. Something incredibly unfamiliar and he fought he urge to smile widely, but before such a thing could happen, Ned’s voice echoed loudly across the gymnasium, “Peter knows Spider-Man!”

 

Silence.

 

Frozen.

 

Everyone stopped their sit ups.

 

Peter’s jaw dropped to the floor and he looked at Ned, horrified. Ned himself seemed horrified as well, eyes bulging out of his head and Peter jumped to his feet, holding up his hands in defense. Peter stuttered, “N-No, I…I don’t!”

 

“They’re friends!” Ned stood as well.

 

Flash’s voice cut in, “Yeah, like Coach Wilson and Captain America are friends.”

 

Peter tried to find his voice, eyes meeting Liz’s until he dropped them to the floor, “I-I’ve met him…yeah…a couple of times b-but it’s through…my dad’s work…”

 

Flash’s head tilted, and he smirked, and Peter glared back at Ned, speaking through his teeth, “I’m not really supposed to talk about it!”

 

 Flash nodded, voice laced with sarcasm as he continued to feed the fire that Peter was trying so desperately to put out, “That’s awesome! Hey, you know what? Maybe you should invite him to Liz’s party. Right?”

 

“Yeah,” Liz added, and Peter’s heart fluttered, “I’m having people over tonight, you’re more than welcome to come.”

 

Peter whispered, “You’re having a party?”

 

Liz just continued to smile softly and instead Flash answered for her, “Yeah, it’s gonna be dope. You should totally invite your personal friend, Spider-Man. Hell, maybe even what’s left of the Avengers, right? Since you seem to know everyone who ‘works’ with your dad.”

 

“It’s okay, I know Peter is way too busy for parties anyway,” Liz amended.

 

“C’mon, he’ll be there,” Flash looked smugly at Peter continuing to move towards him, “Right?”

 

Peter looked at the floor as Flash walked by and the bell rang. He tugged mindlessly on the bandage covering where his arm had been cut the night before and he fought the urge to turn around and scream Ned’s head off.

 

What a way to start off the new semester.

 

…

 

The party was, for lack of a better word, a disaster.

 

Not necessarily a horrible disaster. More so, an embarrassing event that could have very well been avoided if he had just stayed home liked he had wanted to. And when he ended up on the roof, stripped down to his Spider-Man suit with the plan to swoop into the party, he was hit with the epiphany that Spider-Man was not in fact a party trick and it was almost suicide to jump in just when Peter had supposedly ‘disappeared’ from the event without a word to anyone.

 

Then the blue explosion happened. Walking in to the illegal weapon sale happened. Telling sellers of illegal weapons to shoot him happened.

 

And then and then and then…

 

He was lifted in the air by a guy with wings. _With freaking wings!_ What even _was_ that? Poor planning on Peter’s part, but then again, how was he supposed to know that guy was going to swoop in and grab him? It was kind of…well, Peter was in a conundrum. His life was a conundrum and he needed to get out right away.

 

The parachute deployed. _Awesome_. But then wrapped around his legs and tried to drown him. _Less_ awesome. His luck though, one of his father’s suits plucked him from the water and dropped him down in one of the nearby parks…Also awesome and less awesome because his dad’s suit was piloting itself, but then again, his dad knew he was there and was calling from India and that was insane…

 

Peter wrung the water out of his mask, blinking rapidly as he shook his head back and forth, attempting to explain, “A-And he just, like, swooped down like a monster! And picked me up, and took me up like a thousand feet and just dropped me!”

 

The suit was listening patiently, empty, his father wasn’t in there, Peter had to remind himself, body still trembling and cold as he shivered. Peter paused, brows furrowing a bit as he theorized, “Guess this kind of proves you put a tracker in my suit, right?”

 

“I put everything in your suit,” His father deadpanned, “Including this heater.”

 

Peter felt warmth cover him and suddenly he was somewhat grateful for his father’s overthinking, even if the parachute had drug him under the water and hadn’t deployed properly. His heart still raced at the thought of the ropes and the fabric and not being able to breathe, but he managed to suppress it for the time being.

 

Peter breathed, “That’s better…Thanks.”

 

And then the dad voice arrived.

 

“What were you _thinking_?”

 

“The guy with the wings is the source of the weapons!” Peter exclaimed, “I gotta take him down!”

 

Sarcasm. The kind of sarcasm only his father could produce came back at him at a million miles per hours, slamming into him like a ton of brick and Peter was almost left breathless with frustration, “Take him down now, huh? Steady, Crockett, there are people who handle this sort of thing.”

 

Peter eyes narrowed, frustration creeping in, “Like who? What’s left of the Avengers?”

 

There was a slight pause. Only slight and it was enough to make Peter want to backtrack and apologize because yeah…his father didn’t like to think about the Avengers so much or what was left of them anyway. His dad answered though, probably gathering his bearings, “This is below their paygrade.”

 

“Below theirs but not mine,” Peter breathed, “If anything, that just means you didn’t have to come out here…or send your suit or whatever. I had that, Dad, really, I was fine.”

 

His father’s voice returned sharply through the suit, and Peter didn’t think he would have been saying any of that if his dad was actually there, “You had that? I’m sorry, last time I checked your vitals were sinking kind of low because you were drowning, Peter. You were drowning just now; did you know that? I know that sort of thing is probably hard to grasp at fifteen, thinking you’re invincible and everything – “

 

“I know what it feels like to drown I’ve done it before, right?” Peter answered. It was meant to be more of a joke, not actual anger, but the quiet that went along with it from his father’s end meant that his dad did _not_ think that was funny. It was only a vague memory, when he had fallen in the pool that one time, and the panic didn’t come along with the memory. Just the feeling of being under water so long it felt like his head would explode. But it was clear his father remembered it very differently than a person would if they were four-years-old at the time.

 

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” His dad’s voice didn’t sound amused, in fact it sounded angry.

 

Peter bit his lip and shook his head, “No sir.”

 

_Yes, but it hurt your feelings, so no…I’m sorry._

Peter swallowed, “Just trying to…lighten the mood.”

 

The suit sighed, and his dad muttered, “Thank God this place has Wi-Fi, or you would be toast right now. Thank Ganesh while you’re at it. Look…forget the flying vulture guy, please.”

 

“Why!?” Peter threw his hands out.

 

“Why?” His dad snapped, “Because I _said_ so! Stay close to the ground. Build up your game helping the little people. Can’t you just be a…friendly neighborhood Spider-Man?”

 

 Peter felt his body deflate. Just a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Peter took pride in helping the little guy but he…he just knew he could be working on bigger things too. He could take on a lot, and he could still go to school. Sometimes he struggled to juggle everything, but didn’t every high schooler? He could handle it. He could handle all of it, he just needed his father to give it to him.

 

“But I’m ready for more than that now!” Peter pleaded.

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“That is not what you thought when you let me go against Captain America!”

 

Oh, that did it. Again, Peter was just saying all the wrong things. Peter could imagine his father’s face, the way his jaw would have set, the way he would have been looming like an overbearing presence, and Peter was so thankful for India in that moment it wasn’t even funny. A finger pointed at him, and even if his father wasn’t in the suit, the mannerisms were so similar it made Peter cringe as his dad said, “I didn’t know it was you, because you failed to disclose that to me, right? You lied to me.”

 

Peter whispered, “You still knew I was a kid under the mask.”

 

“I knew you were young, not _how_ young,” His father breathed, “And I didn’t know you were mine. If I had, you never would have been in Germany and if Cap wanted to lay you out, he would have. Trust me.”

 

Peter looked down, fighting the way his lip quivered. He wrung his hands together as his dad went on, “If you come across these weapons you call me, or you call Happy, or even Pepper. An _adult_. And we will take care of it, understand?”

 

Peter bit his lip and his father questioned again, “Do you understand, Peter?”

 

“Yes,” Peter huffed.

 

“Good. Go home; past your bedtime there anyway.”

 

Peter narrowed his eyes. The suit left him there, in the park and Peter jumped down, beginning to make the long walk back to the party. He just needed his stuff back and then he’d go back to the penthouse, maybe try to drag Ned home with him. Probably wouldn’t be hard, since he had abandoned Ned at a party and Ned was just as awkward as he was. He glanced around, taking the same route he had basically run through and destroyed while chasing the weapon-guys through the streets of the suburban neighborhood.

 

His eyes burned a bit with unshed tears. The frustration was increasing more and more every day and Peter was starting to wonder if his father was ever going to trust him to handle things on his own. It seemed to become less likely as time ticked on and he worried that because he was wearing the suit his father had created, it would be a way for his father to always keep an eye on him, even after he was an adult. His dad was always going to treat him like a child…

 

Peter stepped around a tricycle in one of the backyards when he saw it.

 

The purple glow.

 

It was the same purple that had torn through Delmar’s Deli and Peter’s eyes widened under the mask when he saw it. He rushed towards it, kneeling beside the metal object before turning it over and inspecting it silently.

 

Woah…

 

Peter could hear a low vibrating sound as he lifted the metal object into his hands and studied it closely.

 

Super-Secret-Alien-Tech.

 

Badass.

 

…

 

When two guys came into Peter’s school, including one that tried to kill him the night before, and tried to steal his ‘glowy thingy’ it was probably one of the scariest moments of his life. Mostly because it was Peter’s school, not Spider-Man’s school (Spider-Man didn’t have a school, but a school for super heroes sounded awesome…then again, he was pretty sure there was a school somewhere for mutants).

 

He didn’t actually come face to face with them, but he managed to get a tracker on one.

 

Peter and Ned stayed up all night, tracking them to their ‘evil lair’ in Maryland because of course a gang with alien guns run by a guy with wings was gonna have an evil lair. Duh. And that was how Peter ended up going to Nationals without having really wanted to in the first place, but he was happy because it made Liz smile and Peter liked it so much more when she did.

 

And it pissed off Flash. Which was also a bonus.

 

They got drilled most of the bus ride, and Happy had called about halfway through to ask why he was going to Maryland and why his suit had left its radius. Something that kind of concerned Peter a bit because even if his father missed something, that meant Happy was also watching him too. Peter just reassured him that Pepper knew exactly where he was, and it was just for a decathlon competition.

 

It was no big deal.

 

Happy decided it was no big deal too.

 

Peter was more than relieved when they got to the venue and he could hook his suit up to Ned’s laptop. He had to get rid of the issue of Happy and his father right away, especially since he didn’t know what he would be doing that night. He laid his suit out on the bed and Ned narrowed his eyes on him while Peter fiddled with a few wires.

 

“Peter…why are we taking the tracker out of your suit?”

 

“Uh…” Peter took the flashlight from between his teeth, “Because I gotta follow these guys to their boss before they move again…and I really don’t want my dad to know about it.”

 

Ned looked at him disbelieving and Peter felt something cold wash down his spine. Like a slight annoyance, because Ned didn’t understand. He didn’t understand what it was like to try so hard and to only get told he was too young in return…He had to do it. He had to prove himself and he couldn’t do that if his father and Happy were babysitting. Hell, Pepper might have been babysitting him too for all Peter knew, there was no telling.

 

Ned questioned, “So you’re lying to your dad now?”

 

“It’s not lying,” Peter muttered, tilting his head slightly, “He just doesn’t really get what I can do yet.”

 

He could see Ned wanted to argue out of the corner of his eye, but Peter was busy using tweezers to pluck the tracker from his suit. Peter smirked triumphantly to himself and turned towards the lamp, saying, “Alright, Happy and Dad…enjoy tracking this lamp.”

 

Peter placed the tracker onto the lampshade, full intents to return it to his suit before his father could notice back in New York. He heard Ned starting to type on the laptop and his friend hummed, “There’s a ton of other subsystems in here. But they’re all disabled by the Training Wheels Protocol.”

 

Ned chuckled at the name and Peter looked shocked, jumping up onto the bed beside Ned, peering around him at the computer screen before he exclaimed in disbelief, “What!?”

 

He didn’t know why he was disbelieving. Of course, his dad would do such a thing.

 

“Turn it off!” Peter ordered.

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Ned argued, “I mean they’re blocked for a reason.”

 

Peter stood up, swinging his arms almost petulantly. He jumped on the bed, the springs bouncing under his weight as he huffed, “C’mon man, I don’t need training wheels! I’m sick of him treating me like a kid all the time! It’s not cool!”

 

“But you are a kid,” Ned pointed out.

 

Peter glared, “Yeah, a kid who can stop a bus with his bare hands.”

 

The other boy sounded a bit more defensive as he replied, “Look man, I just don’t think this is a great idea, I mean, what if it’s illegal?”

 

Peter fell forward off the bed, kneeling beside Ned as he begged, “Look please! This is my chance to prove myself. I can handle it, Ned, c’mon. You’re my guy in the chair…dude please…”

 

“Don’t do that.”

 

“If my dad tries to arrest you or something I’ll steal one of his suits for you and I’ll help you start a new life somewhere else.”

 

Ned sighed, his shoulders slumping.

 

He pressed his laptop button twice and Peter grinned so widely it hurt.

 

Hell _yes_.

 

…

 

Peter tasked Ned with protecting the glowy thingy, but it was all almost blown out of the water when Liz asked him to go swimming. It was probably one of the most suckish moments of his life to refuse to go because of superhero work, but Peter supposed if he was ever going to be an Avenger one day, he’d have to make some sacrifices, and having fun with a pretty girl would have to be one of those sacrifices. Peter was tempted though. It really did suck.

 

The moment he slipped his mask on, he was met with an unfamiliar female voice, sounding out through his ears and Peter nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

“Good evening Peter!” She greeted enthusiastically, “Congratulation on completing the rigorous Training Wheels Protocol and gaining access to your suits full capabilities.”

 

It was odd. Peter was used to AIs, but this one was _his_. Even though his dad had built it, it was made for him specifically and the moment he finished explaining where the tracker was and she showed him right where to go, he knew it was the start of a very wonderful friendship. Peter hitched a ride on the back of a truck for several miles, crouched down, and he wondered if one day his knees would literally just stop working from how much he abused them.

 

It sort of led to lame results at first. Their secret lair was in a gas station…or at one…at least that was the impression Peter had gotten at first because that was where he found two of the goons waiting in a parked vehicle. His suit could do several new things, which included hearing people far away and in doing so, Peter quickly figured out the men were on some kind of heist.

 

Apparently, there was an Instant Kill in his suit. Freaking terrifying as hell, what did his father think he was going to do with _that_?

 

It had been a mess from there, trying to figure out how to get his upgraded webshooters to work. He was left with five-hundred-seventy-six options and Peter couldn’t believe his father had put so much effort into such a thing and had them locked away behind a Training Wheels Protocol. He couldn’t wrap his head around it and why…why…why would he need Instant Kill or that many webshooter options? Absolutely insane. His dad was insane.

 

But the three trucks came by before he had really figured anything out.

 

They showed up.

 

Vulture Guy showed up.

 

His webshooters were all screwed up.

 

And Peter gave himself a concussion trying to jump through the ceiling of the shipping container, getting himself trapped in the highest secured vault on the eastern seaboard.

 

‘Just Peter things’.

 

…

 

“Hey Suit-Lady…I kinda feel bad…calling you Suit-Lady. You know? I think I should probably give you a name…Like Liz…no, no, no, God that’s – that’s weird…”

 

Peter paused.

 

“What about…Karen?”

 

“You can call me Karen. If you would like.”

 

…

 

The glowy thingy was a bomb.

 

_The glowy thingy was a bomb_

_THE GLOWY THINGY WAS A BOMB._

 

A Chitauri energy core, of all things, and good freaking thing Karen was there to inform Peter because he would have had no idea. It only made the escape from the vault even more frantic and two-hundred-forty-seven attempts later, Peter managed to get the door open with exactly no time to spare in the race back to the Decathlon. He knew he wouldn’t make it for the competition, but it didn’t matter, as long as he could make it there before the bomb went off.

 

But then _the bomb went off_ …

 

At the top of the Washington Monument of all places.

 

Peter had never thought of himself as an idiot more in his life than he did in that moment, but he was really convinced he was probably going to die, especially through the whole process of jumping over the helicopter and practically throwing himself through the upper story window. Shatter proof glass that he had managed to break with his feet. It was all horrible, but great, because he managed to save his friends, even if they hated him for missing the decathlon, they were alive to hate him and that was all that mattered.

 

Well, all of them except Ned, in all of his ‘ride or die’ glory. Quite literally ‘ride or die’.

 

…

 

All anyone was talking about at school that Monday was Spider-Man.

 

It was almost hard for Peter to wrap his head around it. The people that surrounded him, that barely knew he existed, loved a part of him they didn’t know was there and it was weird but nice at the same time. It was the first time in his life that he wondered what it would be like to be his father. For everyone to know him…to know his face under the mask. But it flitted away because when he needed to disappear, Peter could. It was hard enough to disappear as Tony Stark’s son…but being Tony Stark’s son _and_ being Spider-Man…Peter would never be left alone.

 

Peter bounded down the stairs, smiling from ear to ear and as he turned right down the hallway, he heard Ned’s voice calling, “Dude, dude, dude!”

 

Peter turned around and once Ned was in earshot, he asked, “What’s it like being famous when no one knows it’s you?”

 

“Crazy dude,” Peter whispered.

 

“Crazy,” Ned echoed, “Should we tell everyone?”

 

Peter raised an eyebrow, “No.”

 

“Should _I_ tell everyone?”

 

“No,” Peter almost laughed, “That’s not a good idea.”

 

Ned shrugged it off, and maybe he was joking but maybe not, Peter couldn’t tell. He patted Peter on the arm and gestured behind him saying, “C’mon we gotta get to class.”

 

Peter cringed inwardly, but tried not to let it show on the outside. He was going to have to prepare for a lecture from Ned, because Ned was known for such things. Not quite like his father, but like a guardian angel on his shoulder that told him when he was screwing up and it made it kind of hard to be a risk taker when one’s shoulder-angel was Ned Leeds. Peter called after him, “I’m not going to class.”

 

Ned turned slowly, face exasperated…Yep, the speech was coming, “You’re already in so much trouble for ditching Decathlon.”

 

Peter lowered his voice and moved forward, “Listen dude, I figured it out. Wingsuit Guy is stealing from Damage Control. What he takes from Damage Control…that’s how he builds the weapons. So, all I gotta do is catch him!”

 

“But we have a Spanish quiz.”

 

“Ned, I’m probably never gonna come back here,” It was wishful thinking, he knew…a part of him told him no matter what he did, his father would never let him be an Avenger. But there was this sliver, a part he had convinced that he could do it…that if he worked really, really hard he could get his dad to let him take a step up…that part screamed and shouted and kicked for him to go, go, go, “Dad is moving the Avengers upstate…so…when I bring this guy in –“

 

Ned shook his head, “Dude…your dad isn’t gonna let you be a high school drop out.”

 

Peter began to walk backwards towards the door, “I’m so far beyond high school right now!”

 

He turned around and just as he did, he was greeted with the unfaltering face of Principal Morita.

 

“Peter, my office.”

 

…

 

“So…you got detention. You screwed up. You know what you did was wrong. The question is, how are you gonna make things right? Maybe you were trying to be cool. But take it from a guy who has been frozen for sixty-five years, the only way to really be cool is to follow the rules.”

 

Peter threw himself out of his seat, threw his backpack over his shoulder and stomped out of detention.

 

Cap’s PSA was almost too unbearable to hear.

 

Screw him. Follow the rules? Cap hadn’t followed the rules…he was a war criminal. He had run away…but sometimes Peter wondered if that had been the better decision.

 

So, he did.

 

…

 

Karen recorded everything.

 

Baby-Monitor Protocol.

 

Peter wanted to argue with his father over that, but ultimately, it was what brought him to Aaron Davis so he supposed he should have been grateful. Aaron Davis probably wasn’t grateful because Peter was the reason his ice cream was going to melt on a September afternoon, webbed to his trunk in a parking garage. But Peter had gotten what he needed.

 

Staten Island Ferry.

 

Eleven.

 

Peter had barely ended up on board, but in retrospect, he probably should have avoided the entire ride. Should have done what his father had told him. Peter glanced into the window, seeing the guy from the bridge…one of the men that had tried to kill him. Sitting behind him was another man with grey hair that Peter didn’t recognize and apparently Karen didn’t have him in her database. Peter ordered, looking at the grey-haired man, “Dronie, keep an eye on that guy. We don’t need anyone escaping this time.”

 

Peter scaled his way to the roof of the ferry, the blue blinding him in the sunlight as he crawled across. He peered over the edge, down at three men below. The man on the left with a scorpion tattooed on his neck was apparently Mac Gargan, according to Karen’s facial recognition. He had an extensive criminal record, including homicide which was…not cool. Especially not cool to have around so many other people and Peter just…how could a guy with homicide on his record be riding a Staten Island Ferry like everything was okay?

 

Another man came up…the one that had been sitting behind the man Peter had asked dronie to watch. He approached the guy with the scorpion on his neck and said, “White pickup truck.”

 

One of the other men moved towards the inside of the ferry while the guy with the scorpion tattoo stayed behind. Peter ordered softly, “Dronie, scan the ship for a white pickup truck.”

 

Peter remained crouched on the roof, hoping Dronie could multitask well between the pickup truck and the guy with grey hair. The information filtered into Peter’s mask and he smirked underneath, breathing. The products were there, in the truck, ready to be sold to the buyer and Peter could have whooped with laughter.

 

“This is too perfect,” Peter muttered, “They got the weapons, the buyers, and sellers in one place.”

 

Karen’s voice interrupted his personal celebrations with, “Incoming call from ‘Dad’.”

 

“No, no, no,” Peter ordered, leaning back and nearly exclaiming, “Don’t answer – “

 

Too late. His father’s face appeared on the screen suddenly and Peter wanted to crawl into himself. His father would be back from India the next day, which meant Peter only had so much time to find his proof before twenty-four-hour watch began again and Peter just…he needed this to go smoothly. The moment is father’s face appear on the screen, the man pulled his sunglass off and greeted, “Peter. Got a sec?”

 

“Uhhhhh,” Peter crouched in on himself, “I-I’m actually at school, Dad. Ya know, it’s a Monday.”

 

Peter blinked several times. It felt like his dad was right in his face, so close to the mask. His father continued speaking anyway, and Peter didn’t know why he was surprised that his statement had been completely steam rolled over as he dad explained, “Well, I wanted to call about D.C. I didn’t see the news until this morning and I wanted to check on you…and tell you good job, you know, for what you did.”

 

“Okay,” Peter breathed, peeking back over the edge.

 

“Howard never really gave me…a lot of support…And obviously I’m trying to break the cycle of shame and I think the past few weeks I haven’t been the most supportive of this thing you’re trying to do…”

 

Peter gritted his teeth, “Uh! I’m kinda in the middle of something!”

 

“Don’t cut me off when I’m complimenting you. Anyway…great things are about to happen…”

 

The horn from the ferry sounded off and his father paused in his statement. Peter was trying hard to listen to what was going on below him with the men but he was having trouble with his father’s face being in the way of everything. Especially with the horn blaring through his ears. His father’s brows furrowed, and Peter felt his heart skip a beat as the man asked, “What was that?”

 

“I’m at band practice.”

 

“That’s odd,” His dad hummed, “Considering you quit band six weeks ago…What’s up?”

 

Keys, keys, keys, the guy was holding up keys, Peter needed them, right then. He shouted into the line, “Gotta go! End call!”

 

“ _Hey_ …”

 

The line hung up and Peter knew he was going to be dead when his father got home from India, but there was only so much he could do. When the man’s face disappeared, Peter shot his web out towards the keys, snatching them quickly as he shouted, “I’ll take those! Yoink!”

 

Peter jumped down and landed between the group of men, continuing his verbal announcement, “Hey guys, the illegal weapons-deal ferry was at 10:30. You missed it!”

 

All three men were quick to pull their weapons from their belts and Peter felt his sense spike immediately, throwing cold water up his spine. He shot outward, grabbing two of the three guys and pulling them forward before flipping over them. They slung into the ground and he landed on his hands, flipping over and kicking the third guy back off the ferry. Peter quickly caught him with his webbing though and yanked him forward into the edge, just so the guy could get a grasp on the boat.

 

Another spike of his senses caused him to duck and from behind, the guy from the bridge sent an electrified fist towards the back of his head. The shocker guy overthrew and stumbled into the metal railing, sending sparks out as it contacted the fist. He got trapped in the fencing a few moments and Peter turned just in time to see two of the guys from earlier beginning to get up. Peter shouted, “Woah, woah, woah, not so fast!”

 

He threw them backward and he cringed inwardly, “Are you guys okay? My bad…that was a little hard.”

 

Peter then turned his attention to shocker guy, “I gotta say, the other guy was much better with that thing. I’m honestly…I-I’m shocked.”

 

 Dronie landed on his chest once more and Peter changed his webshooter cartridges. One more man ran towards him from the back, but Peter had him restrained in seconds, hardly moving from his position on the back of the boat. Nothing could ever be that easy and after hearing the sound of someone being slammed, repeatedly against one of the vehicles, Peter whirled around to see that the grey-haired man had moved from the upper deck to the lower portion.

 

Awesome.

 

He looked at Peter…and it almost looked like he wanted to smirk.

 

Peter started to rush forward, but shouting interrupted, “Freeze! FBI, don’t move!”

 

Looking up at the upper deck, he saw several men leaning over the edge, pointing guns downward. Peter’s jaw dropped in shock as even more men with guns appeared, shouting that they were FBI. Peter held up his hands and yelled, “What do you mean FBI!? What’re they doing here!”

 

Then there were sounds. Crazy sounds, like a chainsaw ripping through something. Peter stared back down the car tunnel, watching as the flying guy’s wings began to rip out of the back of one of the vans. His heart immediately jumped into his throat and right…of course the FBI would show up right when Peter was going to catch the guy. Of course, the grey-haired man would be the boss that Peter was looking for. Of course, of course, of course.

 

It was Stark luck, after all.

 

For Peter…it was a blur from there. Being thrown around and swung by the Vulture-Guy had nearly ripped him to shreds and honestly, it had ripped the boat in half. He wondered, as water rushed in, if he’d actually be able to hold the ship together. Because he’d damn well try. He’d be split in half before he let anyone die there…before he let that happen.

 

He couldn’t let that happen.

 

Peter had never imagined his death would be caused by a flying guy with wings. That it’d be caused by a boat tearing open…tearing him. His arms, his shoulders, Peter would have let it happen. He was going to let it happen.

 

But then his dad was there.

 

His dad was there, or at least a suit was.

 

And Peter…well, he started to think maybe being torn in half was the better option.

 

“I think you’ve done _enough_.”

 

…

 

Peter spent hours sitting on top of that building, waiting for his father’s suit.

 

He knew it was coming, which was why he was there in the first place. It was where he had been told to wait for him…to talk. But Peter had a feeling…well, he knew it wasn’t going to be much talking. He couldn’t really find a way to care though, in that deep moment, thoughts wild and low because his stomach felt like it had been punched over and over again and as he watched the boats help evacuate the ferry he just…He couldn’t think. His father was cleaning up his mess…and Peter had never considered himself to be anything like other billionaire’s kids, but that was what he was in that moment.

 

His mask was crumpled beside him, hands folded in his lap when the suit soared over and landed on the ledge several feet from him. A safe distance. One that said “I am so pissed off right now”. Peter bit the inside of his cheek, not looking up and his eyes burned slightly with unshed tears. His shoulders shook with anticipation…just waiting. Waiting and waiting, always waiting. _Waiting_ for a dad to come home. For a mission. For trust.

 

“Previously on Peter screws the pooch,” Yep…the entire conversation was going to suck, “I tell you to stay away from this. Instead, you hacked a multimillion-dollar suit so you could sneak around behind my back doing the one thing I told you not to do.”

 

It wasn’t the one thing. It was _never_ the one thing.

 

Peter croaked past the lump in his throat, “Is everyone okay?”

 

“No thanks to _you_.”

 

Peter’s head snapped back towards his father, eyes wide. Then the sadness turned to anger. The shame turned to frustration and Peter threw his legs around asking vehemently, “No thanks to me?”

 

Peter jumped down, holding a hand out behind him as he walked towards the suit. The empty suit. The suit that had been empty for weeks because his father just couldn’t grasp that Peter was doing this and felt the need to _leave_. Maybe that wasn’t the real reason. Maybe Peter had made it up in his head, but it felt like the truth. Now more than ever it felt too real to comprehend properly.

 

Peter continued, the suit beginning to lower to his level, “Those weapons were out there, and I tried to tell you about it, but you didn’t listen to me. None of this would have happened if you had just listened to me!”

 

The boy then chuckled almost bitterly, glancing over and then back up at the suit, saying, “If you even cared, you’d actually be here.”

 

Then the suit opened.

 

And there was his father…his father that wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.

 

Peter stopped his advancement almost immediately, eyes going wide as he practically threw himself back away from the man in shock. He felt…like crying. Like a kid caught doing something awful, stealing or something, and not expecting his parent to be there and there he was. There was his dad, looking at him with an unfaltering stare. One that said he knew everything about Peter. Everything. Because he had raised him…he knew him better than anyone and it was true, he did…so Peter’s backdown was nothing of a shock.

 

“I did listen,” His father said sharply, a voice demanding attention, “Who do you think called the FBI? I tried, I tried to let you do this but all you had to do was back off and let the feds handle it because it was their _area_. This is their paygrade – “

 

Peter interrupted weakly, “I _found_ this case – “

 

“No, this is where you zip it!” His father shouted suddenly, causing Peter to flinch sharply. His father so rarely lost his temper like that…so rarely screamed at him so suddenly…the last time had probably been when he had found out about Spider-Man, when he had screamed for him to take the suit off…His father went on, “Alright? The adult is talking!”

 

Peter didn’t even get the chance to gather his bearings before his father continued, “What if someone had died tonight? Different story, right? Because that’s on _you_ …But if you died…that’s on me. And I’m not going to lose you to this kind of bullshit, do you understand me? I’m not going to bury my kid, I will _not_ be one of those people.”

 

“I understand,” Peter tried to find his voice, but it was so hard, so hard when his father was so angry with him, “I’m sorry – “

 

“Sorry doesn’t cut it.”

 

Peter bit his lip, shaking his head back and forth, “I just wanted to be like you.”

 

There was a pause. A breath…then, “And I wanted you to be better. All I’ve ever wanted is everything to be better for you, Peter. A better childhood, better friends, a better father but here I am screaming at you…just like my dad would do to me.”

 

Peter could see a flash of guilt, but the burning anger was more, and it was covering it. His dad sniffed, scratched his face, then looked away, not meeting Peter’s eyes as he ordered, “Alright, this isn’t working out, I’m gonna need the suit back.”

 

And no…Oh God no, he wouldn’t –

 

“For how long?” Peter whispered.

 

His father’s eyes met his finally, one word leaving his lips, “Forever.”

 

“No,” Peter breathed, eyes welling with tears, “No, no, no, Dad please…please Dad, don’t…This suit is all that I have, I’m nothing without this suit.”

 

His father looked…appalled. He grabbed his wrist and Peter recognized it as a sort of nervous tick thing…His father had chronic pain in that arm, he had, had it as long as Peter could remember. And when things got bad…when things got tense, it flared inside of his father like a disease. An outward sign of mortality. Then the man snapped, “If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it, okay?”

 

It was almost like he was horrified by Peter’s words. Like they had stung him deep inside, somewhere in the pit of his gut. Peter’s throat bobbed, and he felt like just throwing himself down, screaming his head off, throwing a tantrum and Peter hadn’t even done that when he was young enough for it to be acceptable. Fifteen certainly wasn’t acceptable for such as that.

 

Peter _did_ cry though. Not loudly…he didn’t sob, but after he was forced to change out of his suit and spend the ride home with his father and Happy in an awkward silence, he made sure to keep his head turned towards the window to his left. He couldn’t help it…it felt like a piece of himself had just been carved out and he didn’t know if he was really that attached to the suit or the idea of it, but it still hurt. His father’s disappointment had hurt. And his father had tried to break the silence with small talk. Had tried to soothe the wounds by saying everyone had been reunited with their families…and as glad Peter was for that, he was also desperately upset.

 

The second they walked in the door, Peter made a beeline for his bedroom.

 

…

 

Peter woke up crying in the middle of the night.

 

That was where the sobbing had found a new home, he guessed, there in the darkness of his nightmare. The nightmare of water rushing into a ferry, his arms being ripped, a parachute dragging him into the depths of cold water, maybe in a swimming pool back in Malibu. He had suppressed it in front of his father the day before, only for it to return with vengeance.

 

But then someone was there, holding him tightly and Peter startled into the waking world, much like he had done that night the snow was so loud. He knew it was his father instantly, just from the way his dad tended to tuck his head under his chin, no matter how old he got.

 

“It’s a nightmare, Peter, you’re okay.”

 

“No,” Peter croaked, his voice thick, and his nose clogged from tears that were quickly staining his face, “I-I’m not…the suit is _gone_. I’ll drown.”

 

And maybe if he was a little more coherent he wouldn’t say that. But the world between a dream and awake was odd and Peter was right in the middle, still confused. Still drowning. The hug was so tight though, Peter could barely move. His chest heaved against his father’s, cheek and ear pressed close enough that he could hear the man’s pulse. It was fast, and Peter knew he had probably scared him half to death, waking up in tears.

 

His dad shushed softly, then explained, “There’s no water here.”

 

Peter supposed he was right.

 

…

 

A lot happened the next few days.

 

Peter avoided home the best he could, but to some degree he was grounded and wasn’t supposed to stay out late for fear that he was still Spider-Manning without permission. His father kept a closer eye on him than he had in a long time and it felt as if he was a small child again, being looked after twenty-four-seven. Happy picked him up every day, despite being busy with the move from the Tower, and Peter could tell Happy was not happy about any of it.

 

He and Ned finished the Lego Death Star and Peter though that was going to be the highlight of the rest of his week.

 

Until he saw Liz in the hallway…And worked up the courage to ask her to homecoming.

 

It was sort of a last-minute decision, but Peter supposed without Spider-Man, he could go to the dance. He could have a good time, and he could maybe bring Liz…the prettiest girl ever. And to his shock, she had accepted his invitation, no groveling necessary. It was sort of like a punch to the gut, but a good kind of punch, because she had said yes…Liz had said yes.

 

Peter slid in the penthouse that afternoon and found Pepper in the living area, looking over several papers. She looked up, eyes wide as she took in the boy in front of her, his face almost blanched with shock…because Liz. Had. Said. _Yes_.

 

“I need your help.”

 

Most of the dancing lessons were left up to Pepper, but his father was tasked with teaching him to tie his tie. Peter would have been lying, if he said it wasn’t awkward somewhat, since the suit had been confiscated, but the the silence sort of stuck. And Peter knew his father had been wanting to teach him for some time how to do it, Peter had just been avoiding the lessons, and homecoming was a good a time as any to learn how.

 

The night of the homecoming dance, his father dropped him off outside Liz’s house. There was this quiet, _looming_ , ever since he had gotten his suit taken away. A quiet Peter wasn’t quite sure how to handle or get rid of, really. It was odd around the edges, he stepped on shards, but Peter looked over at his dad and his father smiled softly.

 

“You’ll be great,” His dad commented, “You’re my kid, so I couldn’t imagine anything less.”

 

Peter couldn’t help it…despite the hurt he still harbored over his father’s words, he smiled as well. A part of him wished to glare. Wished to inflict the silent treatment upon the man, but his father made that impossible sometimes. It was something in his personality, the constant attempt to soothe the hurt his words had inflicted. Peter looked at the flowers he had in a small box before glancing back over at his father. Peter questioned, “You ever take Pepper to a dance?”

 

“Oh, I didn’t meet Pepper until way after my dance days,” His father replied simply, “Plus, I graduated pretty early. I didn’t get to do a lot of this stuff. I’m glad you do though.”

 

Peter had wondered why his father had denied every opportunity to allow Peter to skip a grade or two or three, but he understood then what it was. Normalcy. Something his father had never gotten and maybe that was part of why his dad didn’t like the thought of Peter pursuing the hero business. It wasn’t just the danger, it was the world. The life of it.

 

And Peter had walked right into it, willingly. Then again, Starks did that sort of thing.

 

Just like after he shut the car door and walked right into the house.

 

Right into _Vulture Guy’s_ house…

 

“You must be Peter…I’m Liz’s dad.”

 

…

 

Normal people didn’t leave pretty girls at a dance to go fight bad guys in a onesie hidden behind their locker.

 

Normal people didn’t get thrown through a bus and have their best friend save them from a guy with an electrified fist.

 

 _Normal people_ didn’t get a building dropped on them by their date’s dad…

 

But Peter did.

 

Crushed, unable to move, tears streaming the dirt on his cheeks and Peter couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t…his chest would only expand so far and lifting just wasn’t an option. Crushed like a bug, on his belly, water dripping down and maybe it was tears, maybe not, but he knew he was crying and heroes didn’t cry. He doubted his father ever cried about scary situations, but Peter couldn’t help it. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go back to the dance. He wanted his dad to be there with him and it just…I was his own fault. He had gotten himself to that point. Maybe if he had just listened…

 

“Help! Someone help! I’m down here! Please!”

 

A sob wracked his body and the dust was so thick he almost couldn’t…he just…the air and then nothing and air again. But it was unreliable, Peter was unreliable, thoughts and things were unreliable, but wasn’t everything? Peter grasped at that. Grasped and held on because he needed this to be it. He needed to go…Toomes would – he was going to rob his dad’s plane – he was going to steal stuff and build weapons and nothing would ever – his dad would never forgive himself if his stuff was used to hurt people – again.

 

“C’mon Peter…C’mon Spider-Man!”

 

Children with powers lifted buildings he supposed, he was a child with broken ribs and cuts and bruises. He held up the ceiling – Atlas – _Atlas_ and the world erupted and fell, and Peter crawled out from it. His thoughts were broken up, segmented into drifts and punches and Peter jumped on a plane without a second thought, his body still aching, everything still hurting, but he knew he had to stop Toomes. He had to stop him…He had to stop the _plane_.

 

His mother had died on a plane. In a plane crash. Maybe.

 

Peter was sent across the sand, bouncing – fire – and it was _hot, hot, hot_. The sand turned to glass, it shimmered brightly, and he wondered if the plane had really killed his mother or if it had been something else. The people that had made Mister Barnes kill Peter’s grandparents. One after the other and Peter stumbled to his feet, nauseous. He could barely see, and he was slammed into the ground so many times he thought the building was easy compared to that kind of pain in his chest. His nose gushed, bloodied, dirty and it was so freaking hot there on that beach for it to be the end of September.

 

Planes didn’t just crash, did they? Peter was the factor, and Toomes was the factor and they weren’t _friends_. The thoughts were coming, they didn’t make sense, and Peter imagined what it would be like for Liz if her dad died on the beach, in the rubble of a plane crash, like his mother and step-father had. But Peter had been so young, the gap they left behind was almost invisible, but it was there. What kind of gap would it leave Liz with? Was it better to have a criminal father or a dead-criminal-father?

 

Normal people didn’t save the guy that had tried to crush them with a building…

 

But Peter did

 

…

 

Peter climbed in through his bedroom window.

 

A part of him wondered if his father had rushed to the crash site or if he had just expected him to come home, but the question was answered for him when he stumbled in, holding his chest under his hand and keeping himself steady against the wall. The lights in his bedroom were on…His father was there, sitting on the bed, waiting for him, and the moment he looked at Peter’s bruised and bloodied face, the boy covered in sand, something painful crossed his eyes.

 

“Oh God,” His dad breathed and approached, grabbing Peter gently by the chin and he looked him over frantically. Peter shut his eyes – tight – as his father prodded him, taking in each and every wound that covered his body. Peter’s face was covered in ash though, and many of the bruises weren’t bruises at all, just dirt. Maybe his father couldn’t tell the difference.

 

His dad gave one simple, sharp order, “Go shower. I’m calling a doctor.”

 

“Dad – “ Peter started, but his father gave him one look and he knew not to continue.

 

So he did as he was told. Most of the time it was hard to do that, because parts of him didn’t want to do as he was told, but showering was nice. Warm…And the blood and gunk washed off down the drain and Peter changed into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, his ruined onesie discarded. It’d probably have to be thrown away…it was stained…and Peter was struggling to keep his eyes open. There was a cut on his forehead and his lip was split open…underneath his eye a large bruise was forming and Peter tried to avoid looking at his ribs for too long in the mirror.

 

The moment he left the bathroom, his father was already there waiting for him. He had a mug in his hand, and a bottle of water was opened and practically shoved at Peter and Peter took it gratefully because the smoke and dust had made his throat hurt so much, he was coughing up ash in the shower.

 

“Sit down,” His dad ordered, grabbing Peter by his elbows and he helped Peter sit slowly onto the bed. His father was breathing heavily, and he kneeled in front of Peter to where Peter was looking down at his dad. His voice explained, but Peter’s vision was sort of blurred, “Doctor Cho is out of the country, so she’s sending a friend of hers. He’s gonna come look at you, alright? What hurts?”

 

Peter put a hand over his sternum, “Chest.”

 

The inside…his lungs, but also just the ribs themselves ached. His father lifted his shirt gently and he must have seen the expanse of purple and blue, because he inhaled so sharply it sort of startled Peter a little bit. Much to Peter’s relief, his father didn’t prod him at all, and instead lowered his shirt. The relief didn’t last long when his dad hissed, “I’m gonna kill him.”

 

“No…” Peter groaned, grabbing his dad’s shoulders to stop him from standing to his feet, “No, no…Happy was there when I left…they arrested him he-he…He’s Liz’s dad, you can’t hurt him…for her…please.”

 

His father’s eyes held fury. The kind that only surfaced on rare occasions. A memory flitted through and Peter sort of laughed, but it wasn’t a real laugh. More like an ‘I’m really out of it right now’ kind of laugh. Like having his wisdom teeth removed. His father’s brows furrowed and Peter shook his head back and forth, “Sorry just…I just survived a plane crash…That’s kind of funny right? We have really bad luck with planes.”

 

The crazy look he got in response only made him laugh a little longer than necessary, but eventually the pain erupting from under his ribs silenced him. He cringed back, and his dad grabbed his forearms from his kneeling position in front of him. Peter swallowed, hard, and whispered, repeating his apology, “ _Sorry_ that was probably – weird. I-I…have a feeling Mom didn’t really die when the plane crashed, right? She died before that.”

 

“Not the time to be asking those questions, Peter,” His father muttered.

 

Peter shrugged, ignoring the way his shoulder pulled painfully, “When’s the time? Hydra killed my mom and they killed your mom too.”

 

It was weird, it felt like he wasn’t the one talking. Peter looked startled with himself, blinked rapidly as if he was trying to get the words back inside, but he couldn’t do that, they had been spoken into existence. Air crumbled, Peter looked at his dad and he whispered softly, so that the man struggled to hear him, “ _Hydra_ did. Not Mister Barnes. Y-You know, I forgive Toomes for what he did to me tonight…because he was just a dad…maybe you should forgive Mister Barnes too.”

 

His father’s jaw set, mouth in a line. Peter felt his stomach tie in a knot and he sucked in a breath, quick, his mouth opening and staying that way as if he had been struck in the back with something. His eyes went wide, and he rasped, “Dad, we have really, really bad luck with _planes_.”

 

Definitely had a concussion. He could tell, because it felt like he was hopped up on drugs and nothing was making sense. Peter wasn’t saying what he wanted to say, and when a sob wracked his body, his father’s face softened considerably. His dad cupped his cheeks gently, trying to avoid the bruise and Peter shut his eyes, sniffling as he tried to catch his breath, “That was so scary.”

 

“I know,” His father replied, “I know you were scared. I’m sorry you were alone.”

 

His father grunted in surprise when Peter lunged forward, wrapping his arms around his dad’s neck. Peter’s weight almost threw his father off balance from where he was kneeling and both of them almost toppled onto the floor, but his dad managed to keep them upright. Peter croaked, “Fifteen isn’t very old, is it?”

 

“It’s not, Pete, it’s not old at all.”

 

Peter nodded his head in, the world swaying and swaying and he was tempted to just go to sleep, there with his chin resting on his dad’s shoulder, “I feel so old, but not right now.”

 

His father placed a hand on the back of Peter’s head and replied, “That’s good. Just…be my little kid for right now.”

 

…

 

Six fractured ribs, a small perforation in his left lung, and a concussion.

 

All in all, Peter stayed home from school for a week after that.

 

They told the school it was an accident. That he had been hit by a taxi crossing the street, and Peter thought that made him sound like an idiot, but he didn’t argue. He spent most of the time in his bed while Ned brought him homework and kept him company after school every day. The first four days were spent with Ned telling him how awesome the whole fight with ‘Shocker’ had been and the last three were dedicated to Legos.

 

His dad came in and out through the days, so did Pepper, and even Happy. Happy was more of the food runner, but for once he didn’t complain about having to do it. Peter supposed Happy was just grateful because Peter had saved his job, but Peter thought his father would never fire Happy, even if the plane had gotten compromised.

 

Possibly a demotion back to forehead of security. Asset Management would have been a thing of the past.

 

The nightmares clung. Different ones. Not drowning, but concrete, cement, being under a weight he couldn’t escape. Peter supposed nightmares came with the territory of being a hero. Something he and his father had yet to discuss. There had been no debate on the terms, no talk of getting the suit back. Most of their conversations centered around the more normal things in life and Peter had sort of missed that since his father had found out about Spider-Man. But he also knew his dad was busy, working on something at the lab upstate. Peter supposed it was maybe another Iron Man suit or something to take the place of the rogue Avengers.

 

It was the following week, after Peter had returned from school, that Happy had shown up to bring him to the Compound. Apparently there was some kind of ‘surprise’ his father had set out for him…and a surprise it was.

 

A new suit.

 

A brand-new suit. Shiny…almost like the Spider-Man version of his father’s suit.

 

An Iron Spider.

 

“You screwed the pooch hard,” His father explained and Peter nearly cringed, but it was sort of funny in a weird way and he’d have to tell Ned later about his dad’s fail at an encouraging speech, “But you did the right thing, you brought the dog to the free clinic, raised the hybrid puppies…alright not my best analogy…”

 

But the thing that made Peter’s heart lift was his father pointing a simple finger at him and saying, “I was wrong about this. I think with a little more…mentoring…advising, and most of all listening to what those more experienced than you have to say…you could be a real asset to the team.”

 

“T-To the team?” Peter whispered.

 

Then there was the suit. The promise of reporters behind the door…and Peter’s stomach twisted in anxious and excited knots…Because here he was…being told everything he had ever dreamed of being told by his father. The offer of a brand-new suit, the offer of joining the team, the offer of accomplishing everything he had ever imagined accomplishing, right there in arms reach. His father was going to let him do it. He was going to let him be an Avenger, he was going to let him help him, to protect him, to take some of the weight off of him.

 

But then Peter imagined…Imagined standing where his father had stood all those years ago and uttering the words, “I am Spider-Man.”

 

And Peter thought…the whole world would change then.

 

Because it had changed when his father had done it.

 

Peter breathed, looking up at his father…taking in his face. Imagining the features they shared and didn’t share, the eyes that they both had, the eyes his dad had given him. Peter croaked, straightening his back just a bit as he managed to push the words out of himself, like he was betraying every dream he had ever had, but…then again…it wasn’t the dream anymore.

 

“Thank you…so, so much, Dad,” Peter said, “But I’m good.”

 

His father looked taken a back…just slightly…

 

“You’re good? How’re you good?”

 

Peter stuttered desperately, just trying to make his dad understand, but he didn’t even understand it himself. If Peter from a few months ago, hell a few years ago, could hear him now, he’d give himself a swift kick in the ass. But in that moment, it felt right. It felt like the truth and that was all Peter wanted, he just wanted the truth…and he wanted to be honest with his father as he explained, “I-I’d rather just stay on the ground for a while. Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Somebody’s got to look out for the little guy, right?”

 

His father pulled off his glasses, “You’re turning me down? Gotta think about this, look at that…”

 

The man pointed at the suit, then continued, “Look at me.”

 

Peter looked back into his father’s eyes and he finished, “Last chance, yes or no.”

 

“No,” Peter stated in finality. A sort of weight left him. The thing that always followed him, whenever adults looked at him, when they talked to him like he didn’t get it. But Peter got it. His dad got it. There was a silent understanding there and his father smiled slightly, just a little bit. There wasn’t disappointment on his dad’s face, like Peter had feared so many times in his life…no…there was pride there. His dad put his glasses in his pocket and the smirk grew into a smile.

 

His dad shrugged, “Gotta say, I’m surprised. You’ve been talking about this since you were, what? Eleven? Probably younger if I’m being honest, it seems like I’ve heard you chirping about it for way too long.”

 

Peter smiled a little bit as well, “I’m surprised too…I didn’t think you’d ever get this close to _letting_ me do it.”

 

_Especially not after the plane._

A deep breath escaped his dad, as if he was at a loss for words. It was sort of funny because his father was never at a loss for anything. He always had the best responses, the best things to say. And as rough as their relationship had been since the ferry, he had never stopped talking to him. It was evidence enough when his father dropped him off at Liz’s house. When he had taught him to tie his tie before the dance. But there…in that moment…there was nothing. Just awe in his face because of Peter turning down the suit. Turning down the chance to tell the world who he was, turning down a place with the Avengers.

 

“You’re my son…” His dad started, “And you _are_ capable. But you are my _child._ You’ll always be my child and I figure the safest place for you is learning. This is something you’re determined to do, so teaching you to do it properly…is the better option.”

 

Peter laughed softly. His father, always the business man, always looking at the best course of action.

 

The door opened suddenly behind Peter’s father and Pepper appeared suddenly. She smiled at Peter and asked, “You ready?”

 

“Change of plans,” His father whirled around, “Not gonna happen today.”

 

Pepper’s jaw dropped, and she stepped forward, looking among the three males. Peter cringed, looking at Happy as Pepper got close to Peter’s father, questioning, “Are you kidding me? I’ve got a room full of reporters in there expecting some big announcement, what am I going to tell them?”

 

“Think of something,” Peter watched as his father looked at the ceiling, hummed, and then turned to Happy, “How about…Hap, you still got that ring?”

 

Peter’s eyes shot wide open, as Happy started digging around in his pockets, exclaiming, “Are you kidding!? I’ve been carrying this thing around since 2008!”

 

There was a brief moment of silence, Pepper’s face contorting into annoyance and Peter didn’t know if they were being serious or not, but everything was moving quickly. His dad was…his dad was going to propose? Peter let out a loud cackle, causing the adults to look over at him and he and his dad made eyes contact, causing Peter to nod his head vehemently in encouragement to push the idea. To push it forward.

 

Pepper shook her head, “I think I can come up with something better than that.”

 

“Well, it would buy us some time,” Peter’s father replied.

 

Pepper’s lip upturned slightly, and Peter fought a cringe as she leaned forward and kissed his dad because – gross – but it didn’t smother out Peter’s giddiness as she disappeared behind the door, Peter’s father following close behind after Happy threw the ring to him. Peter looked at Happy and Happy ordered, “Well go on! Go watch your dad propose!”

 

Peter didn’t have to be told twice. He opened the door just enough to peek out at them on the stage.

 

Pepper was a good mom. Always had been. It was about time it was official.


	9. Infinity War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to start by saying, I am so, so sorry this took me a bit longer! I've been really busy with school but I finally got the chapter finished, and I just want to thank you all for being so patient with me. And most of all, I want to thank you all who have read this entire story. You're all so kind to me and I'm just so, so grateful!
> 
> WARNING: This chapter does contain character death! I'm going to add the warning to the story. I suppose I didn't really think to do it, since I had added in the notes in the first chapter that the story would travel through to Infinity War (plus I never really considered them dead since there's gonna be continuations and such haha). But I've had a few people mention that I should probably turn it on, so I'm going to do that. 
> 
> I've had questions about doing a 'fix it'. I don't plan to do that for this particular story, but I do plan to continue it once we have the next Avengers movie and the next Spider-Man movie. So you can expect those updates to this story! I love you all so much, and just thank you, thank you, thank you for another awesome journey!
> 
> ALSO! I made a tumblr finally. https://yellowdistress.tumblr.com/  
> My page is really boring right now, but hopefully I'll figure it out soon! Anyways, love you guys. <3

_February 2018_

“Peter, I should remind you that you are due home in twenty minutes.”

 

Karen’s voice actually startled him slightly. He had zoned out completely, watching the shady guy in the alleyway stand there being…well…shady. Peter blinked several times, trying to get his mind to focus on what was happening, but honestly things had gone boring and maybe at this point Peter was just an asshole for assuming the guy was bad just because he was weird looking. But Peter really thought he looked like a drug dealer.

 

Did drug dealers have a look?

 

Peter didn’t know, but nothing had happened in the past ten minutes of him watching. He had scanned the guys face in the database of his mask and he apparently had a criminal record for petty theft and minor drug charges, but maybe Peter had been wrong to assume he was a multiple offender. He shifted in his crouched position on the ledge of the library overlooking the alley as he muttered, “Just a few more minutes, Karen. Something could happen.”

 

“If you’re late again, your father said you would be grounded for the foreseeable future.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes, “Okay, but last time I got stuck to the side of a taxi, like literally, the guy shot a giant wad of bubble gum – “

 

“It is just my protocol, Peter.”

 

Peter said nothing in return. He didn’t know if AIs got annoyed, but it sounded like Karen didn’t like it when he got all whiny with her. It wasn’t that his father’s requests were ridiculous anymore, he had really taken the step towards giving Peter more freedom after everything with turning down the Avenger’s position. But, Peter supposed he was still his father’s son, after all, and fathers still worried. Always worried.

 

His thoughts were interrupted when someone suddenly turned sharply down the alley from the street, walking with a sort of purpose towards the shady guy. Peter focused his hearing, listening in closely to the two of them as the new man approached, both of his hands in his pockets. The shady guy let out a deep sigh and said, “Took you long enough, I’m freezing out here.”

 

“Sorry, had to get away from my girl. She doesn’t like me messing with this shit.”

 

There was a scoff from the shady guy, but he said nothing in return, just slipping a small ziplock bag from his pocket. The other man took it, sliding something into shady-guy’s hand. Peter whispered quietly into his mask, “What is that?”

 

Karen answered, “I would assume drugs, Peter.”

 

Jeez, sometimes she was as blunt as Friday, Peter assumed they were sisters. Instead of replying to the AI, Peter shot out his webbing, snatching the ziplock bag from the guy’s hand and yanking it up to himself. The two men looked up in shock and Peter jumped down, landing just behind them as he held up the small baggy of white powder. Peter studied it and waved it before thinking out loud, “You know, this is kind of cliché and stuff, selling in dark alleys. Especially like, white-powder stuff. I’m disappointed I might miss curfew for this.”

 

“Get outta here, insect freak!” The shady-guy order, shoving his client out of the way to hold up a gun. Peter’s eyes widened, dropping the bag before he jumped out of the way just as the weapon fired. Peter stuck to the wall next to him, taking the gun with one fire of his webshooter and he threw it, listening as it skidded behind him and out of the alleyway.

 

Peter snapped, “Spiders are arachnids dude, go back to fourth grade.”

 

He jumped off the wall, and slammed his foot into the dealer’s face. The man crumbled to the ground and Peter turned to the client, who had whirled in the opposite direction beginning to make his retreat. Peter used his webbing to wrap the guy’s ankles, and the man went plummeting face first into the ground, sliding across the concrete to a sudden halt. He groaned, and Peter cackled, “You look like one of those rodeo-goat-tying competitions!”

 

Peter then bowed, “I forgot my boots and cowboy hat – AH!”

 

A sharp thud echoed through the alleyway as something slammed into the back of Peter’s head. Peter lurched forward and a foot connected with his back, sending him the rest of the way into the grimy ground. He rolled over, just into time for someone to climb on top of him and slam something hard and metal into the side of his face. Ringing filled his ears and Peter suddenly felt like he was in a tunnel, unable to focus his vision on the attacker above him, a pressing weight crushing into his chest.

 

Then hands wrapped around his throat…and Peter was choking.

 

At first it was sort of a jolt to the system, even if he felt like he was dazed from the blow to his head, he was definitely aware of the fact that he couldn’t bring air into his lungs. He tried though, an odd and foreign sound escaping his throat, something he had never felt before. He knew what it felt like to not be able to breathe, but this was different. So, so different, and the person on his chest felt so heavy, everything in the world was _heavy_.

 

Peter was suddenly left wondering if he was even a person, in a body, because all his mind was saying was _survive, survive, survive, go, run, fight._ Like being under that building again or in the river, drowning. Under water, but this was oxygen and pressure and all of a sudden Peter was nothing but a child being strangled to death in a dark alley. Another civilian casualty to crime and how freaking annoying was that?

 

His hands flailed at his sides, reaching, grasping, searching for anything he could use to defend himself. Because if he was going to die, right there, it wasn’t going to be that way. Not with some shady-guy’s nasty hands around his throat. His gloved hand wrapped around something hard, like a rock or a piece of cement, and Peter swung, feeling satisfaction when it connected bluntly with the drug-dealer’s skull, sending him to the ground beside Peter.

 

Peter rolled over, gasping, gagging, and he didn’t even check to see if the dealer was unconscious before he ripped his mask off, trying to get himself to breathe deeper. Peter whispered, tears streaming his face, “Oh God, oh God…”

 

He knew he was crying, which was stupid. He had gotten hurt on patrol before, but being strangled was kind of personal. Too close for comfort. Peter coughed, sounding like a child that had gotten themselves too worked up over something as he looked at the assailant who was lying motionless, a trail of blood lining his forehead. But he was alive, breathing, and so was Peter so that was good.

 

Peter croaked hoarsely, “Screw you…S-Screw you, asshole. I was having…a good night.”

 

He pushed himself to his feet, making sure to finish webbing the guy up before he put his mask back on and shakily made his way home. He didn’t have time to gather himself in the alley, because he was already going to be late getting there. Probably only about five minutes, but his father tended to count down to the seconds. So, Peter rushed, tried not to fall several times and the back of his head was thudding against his skull from whatever the guy had hit him with. His throat burned, and every intake of breath felt like he was suffering from a bad case of strep.

 

Once Peter returned to the penthouse, he slipped through his bedroom window, stumbling when he did so. It only opened very slightly, from how high up they were, and his foot got caught when the window shut prematurely from the winter wind. Peter groaned, landing on his elbows, halfway stuck in the window and he yanked his foot in, the metal slamming behind him.

 

He just laid on the floor for minute.

 

“Pete?”

 

Peter’s head shot up, and standing in the doorway was his father. He looked confused and Peter supposed him practically flailing through his window was sort of odd and then not moving from the floor, but he really just needed a moment. Peter spoke, voice scratchy, “What’s up?”

 

“What’s up?” His dad replied, entering the room before looking at his watch, “You’re almost ten minutes late, which I’m trying not to be such a psycho anymore but…are you sick? You sound sick.”

 

Peter shook his head, “No, I sound like a drug-dealer just tried to strangle me to death.”

 

Maybe if he had been thinking a little more clearly, he wouldn’t have put it so bluntly. But he ripped his mask off his face, and blinked blearily up at his father. His jaw and throat hurt, and he just wanted to crawl into bed. His father approached him, taking wide strides towards Peter before kneeling in front of him and taking him gently by his face. His dad slipped his finger under his collar, studying the tender skin.

 

“He _strangled_ you? How did he get that close?”

 

Peter lowered his head sheepishly and his father released the hold on his chin, “Well, I sorta turned my back on him because there was a drug client and I was – “

 

“Talking.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

His father let out a deep breath. Peter could tell he wanted to say more, but he was restraining himself. Mostly because his father had set out a few months ago to be more understanding and allow Peter more space. He was sixteen, after all, and would maybe one day accept the place on the Avenger’s team. The man was grasping for patience, and reached out slowly to push some of Peter’s hair out of his face, finding it plastered to the boy’s forehead.

 

He whispered, “Christ, you’re killin’ me.”

 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Peter lied. It had been scary, but if he said that, his father would only worry more. He already constantly worried about Peter’s mental state. The nightmares were…well, ever since Toomes that had spiked. He didn’t want his dad worrying. Peter continued, “You don’t gotta worry about me, Dad, sometimes I’m just gonna get hurt.”

 

His father blinked, “I will never just _be okay_ with you getting hurt.”

 

He grabbed the Spider-Man mask and turned it inside out. Peter tilted his head and he asked, “What’re you doing?”

 

“I’m gonna go back and watch the Baby-Monitor.”

 

Peter’s eyes widened, “No! Don’t do that, it’s only gonna make you more upset. Just…let it alone. Plus, I’m pretty sure I sounded like I cat under a water faucet, I’m sure it’s disgusting a-and pitiful.”

 

There was silence. His father stopped fiddling with the mask and he didn’t look at Peter for a long time. Peter thought maybe he was about to completely flip out, throw the mask, and tell Peter he could never go patrolling again. His hands looked like they were shaking, gripping the material so tightly his knuckles were turning white.

 

Then he stood abruptly and said, “I’ll be back soon, don’t leave the penthouse or Friday will tell me.”

 

Peter watched in shock as his father turned to leave the room, bringing his mask with him. Peter called, “Where’re you going!?”

 

He didn’t get a response. Peter was pretty sure he already knew the answer, but it didn’t stop the spike of anxiety in the pit of his chest. All he could do was watch silently as his dad left and Peter was forced to go through his nightly routine in a state of anxiety. He showered and brushed his teeth and got into bed like he was supposed to do on patrol nights. Peter buried his face in the pillow and waited hours, hoping to hear his father come in.

 

Peter had learned since becoming Spider-Man his father had much less patience for people that hurt him than the average criminal. Growing up, Peter had always viewed his father as a hero, but after becoming a vigilante Peter had found there was a much darker side to his father’s personality. When need be, his father was violent. Unforgiving. Unflinching. Peter was almost sure he had, had a conversation with Toomes at some point and Peter knew if it hadn’t been for Peter wanting to protect Liz, his father would have killed the man.

 

Sometimes Peter got a bruise on patrol and it triggered nothing in his father. More of a ‘criminals will be criminals’ attitude and he’d tell Peter to be more careful next time and to learn from his mistakes. But things like strangling…well, Peter supposed that was too close for comfort. It triggered something in his father that Peter didn’t see get triggered often. When it was, Peter actually worried for the safety of the criminals.

 

Peter heard his dad come back three hours later. He contemplated the confrontation, only briefly, until he sat up straight in bed as his father came down the hallway going towards his bedroom. As soon as the man’s shadow passed in the unlit hall, Peter called out, “Dad?”

 

The shadow stopped, and turned and a voice asked, “What’re you doing up?”

 

“I-I waited,” Peter replied, before he reached over and clicked his lamp on. He could see his father a bit better then, slightly illuminated. It wasn’t what Peter imagined: A man coming home, blood on his clothes and his hands, but his father would never allow such a thing. He looked like he had when he had left, but there was something behind his eyes that was different, always different when things got to be a bit too much.

 

His father stood in the doorway, before he leaned against it almost casually and crossed his arms over his chest.

 

Peter couldn’t help it. He had to ask.

 

“Did you…you didn’t do something wrong, right?”

 

His father stared. Just stared, and Peter knew the answer the moment that the third second ticked by. Then he answered, “Define wrong.”

 

“Unfixable,” Peter said, “Can’t be undone.”

 

To Peter’s relief, the man shook his head, “No, I didn’t.”

 

Peter let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding. He looked down at his hands and bit his lower lip. His throat was still sore, but the shower had helped and really, it didn’t even feel like he had been hurt anymore. But whoever his dad had gone to hurt, well…he wouldn’t heal as fast. Peter whispered without looking at his dad, “I need you to understand something.”

 

There was no response and Peter continued, “Hurting someone who hurt me…it doesn’t fix anything, okay? That’s not justice. It’s not real.”

 

When Peter looked up, his father’s expression hadn’t changed. Peter held up a hand towards the window, “We’re all just people out there, Dad. Different motivations, but we’re just _people_. Sometimes we try to be better and sometimes we don’t…sometimes we can’t.”

 

His father seemed to ponder on those words. Chew on them. He sighed deeply and said, “You’re naïve. That’s not always bad…but Pete, sometimes there isn’t an excuse for people to be the way they are, they just…they just hurt other people. And obviously I’m not perfect, especially not tonight. I’ll regret it tomorrow, but tonight I’m not sorry.”

 

The night felt like it would never end suddenly. The darkness outside. His dad turned to leave, and Peter called, “Wait!”

 

He turned, and Peter asked, “C-Could you just…stay until I fall asleep.”

 

There was no verbal answer. His father walked over to the desk chair and plopped down. Peter felt gratefulness swell in his belly and he laid down slowly, pulling his blanket up to his neck. Peter whispered quietly, “Love you.”

 

“Love you, Peter…I’m sorry.”

 

He didn’t know if his dad was apologizing for beating the guy or for the fact that Peter had gotten a little hurt in the first place. Either way, Peter forgave him.

 

Peter glanced up, and darkness crept in.

 

…

 

Peter woke to light blinding him.

 

His father was still there, sound asleep in the desk chair.

_***_

_March 2018_

The thing about life altering events was this: the night before was typically mundane.

 

In more specifics, it was a Tuesday night, and Peter was up late because he had a field trip the next day and that meant he didn’t need to be completely mentally attentive. He could nod off here and there, considering it was the Museum of Modern Art and Peter just wasn’t particularly interested in such things. He would have never said that in front of Pepper though, the woman was very defensive of the pieces she invested in.

 

Technology, advancements, vigilantism: that was art.

 

But not on Tuesdays, because as a rule, Tuesdays were his ‘nights off’. Forced nights off really, Peter would never let a night slip by without patrolling if the choice was left up to him. Though he’d be seventeen in August, there was still some time yet before he’d get to be eighteen. Even at that point, Peter didn’t know if his father would somehow monitor whether or not he had taken Tuesday off through the suit.

 

Peter sat silently, listening as his father typed on the computer across from him on the couch. Maybe it was a silent game of sorts, waiting each other out. But nightmares waited. They snuck in without much warning at times and Peter had a feeling that night might be a bad one. He didn’t know why.

 

His father probably didn’t trust him to go to sleep on his own. Hence the silence.

 

It was broken though when someone padded into the living room and Peter looked over, almost blearily at Pepper who was dressed in her pajamas, robe pulled tightly around her. She blinked at the two males, mouth going agape as she questioned, “What’re you two still doing up?”

 

She didn’t skip a beat before looking at Peter, “It’s a school night.”

 

“Yeah, but tomorrow is a field trip,” Peter replied, “I figured I didn’t need much sleep for that.”

 

His father never looked up from his laptop as he muttered quietly, “It’s the avoidance behavior spiking, Pep. Don’t believe a word he says.”

 

Peter poked out his lower lip and crossed his arms. Pepper pointed her index finger at him and ordered, “Bed,” She then looked at Peter’s father and continued, “And you, I’d remove that plank from your eye before preaching. He gets it from you. Bedtime, everyone, Friday! Lights out!”

 

The room was enveloped into a dim darkness, both Peter and his father dropping their jaws in shock. It wasn’t much of a surprise though, many nights ended in such ways, with Pepper sending them off to bed before they were ready. Peter watched his father close his laptop and stand, before gesturing for Peter to do the same, “Up, the lady of the house has spoken.”

 

Peter stood, his father clapping him on the shoulder.

 

Life altering…mundane…nights.

 

…

“Don’t you think it’s weird that a science-oriented school is going to an art museum?”

 

Ned whispered the question in front of Peter as they plopped down on the bus, getting ready for the ride to MoMA. Peter was regretting his choice to stay up so late the night before, eyes heavy and burning with lack of sleep. He was desperately blinking them open, over and over again, hence why he sat in a separate seat from Ned with the hopes of possibly lying down.

 

Peter shrugged his shoulders in a half-assed response, “Well, they want us to be well rounded and stuff.”

 

“That’s how you conned yourself into marching band,” Ned snorted, “Always about being well-rounded and stuff. I swear sometimes you’re just quoting Ms. Potts.”

 

Peter didn’t see a problem with that. Pepper had good speeches and at the time they were usually pretty convincing. Peter smiled a little bit and leaned back against the glass as the bus went into motion. There was a low murmur or students speaking to each other, everyone still somewhat tired. It wasn’t terribly early in morning, but still, if it were the weekend most of them would still be in bed at this hour. Peter in particular didn’t move on Saturdays until about noon.

 

Ned put in his ear buds, and Peter leaned back against the glass of the window, shutting his eyes. Flash wasn’t on the school bus, which for him was a win and Peter felt like he could just fall asleep. He would do his best to pay attention at the museum, just so he could go home and tell Pepper a little bit about what he saw. Maybe he would take notes on his phone just to make sure he didn’t forget what they were learning about.

 

The past several months had been odd, and things were changing a lot faster than Peter had expected them to. Ever since sophomore year and the engagement and Vulture, Peter’s life had practically changed overnight. Right after homecoming, his father had been on a tear, rampage really to have Toomes locked up forever. Peter hadn’t been allowed to patrol for a while, but then things seemingly switched. He had been offered the position on the Avengers, and when he had declined, rules were replaced. He could stay out later, but his father had put even more protocols in the suit to keep an eye on him.

 

He knew what it was, it was that his father probably figured Peter was going to be Spider-Man no matter what he did, and it was better for Peter to have the suit with all of the backup systems than a onesie. The onesie was practically destroyed though on the beach, and Peter didn’t know what happened to it, but he figured his father had done away with it. Peter would have kept it though, for sentimental purposes had he been given the choice. Because that was the suit he had built himself, that was the start of his journey.

 

And then the journey had led him to that place on Queensboro Bridge.

 

The mundane slipped away in an instant.

 

There he was.

 

Peter felt the familiar cold on his spine, and his head shot up as the hair on his arm stood on end. His brows tugged together as the instinct screamed for him to _turn the hell around_. Peter’s body whirled, looking out the window across the bridge towards Manhattan. The sky was clear, but floating above the city was a massive – Peter didn’t know – _donut_? The furrowed drifted into shock and Peter felt his heart constrict in his chest because…well, the last time there had been a spaceship over Manhattan he had been tumbled around in a vehicle and his father had flown into a wormhole above the city.

 

He had to go. Because if that was happening…If that was happening, his father was going to be there, no doubt and he didn’t need his dad to fly a nuke into a wormhole. Peter wasn’t a little kid anymore, he could do something about this. He could intervene, he could _help_. He patted the side of Ned’s face who finally turned around to face him, plucking his headphones out.

 

Peter whispered, struggling to find his voice, “I need you to cause a distraction.”

 

Ned was confused, but then saw the giant donut behind Peter’s head, and Peter had to admit, Ned always delivered as the Guy in the Chair. He shouted, beginning to stand from his seat, “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!”

 

“THERE’S A SPACESHIP! OH MY GOD!”

 

Everyone started to run to the back of the bus and Peter quickly slipped on his webshooters, shooting at the emergency exit on the other side of the aisle. The window opened and Peter jumped out, slipping his mask over his face as he swung from the bridge, skidding against the water below. He knew he’d be in trouble, for being involved, he wasn’t supposed to be. He didn’t even have to ask to know he wasn’t supposed to be.

 

He was a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, not an Avenger, but what was he supposed to do? His father was going to be there. Peter knew he would be, and Peter wasn’t going to let his dad be the hero all the time. He was old enough now…he could…he could…

 

Oh…Greenwich.

 

Greenwich Village was a nice place, in all terms, but by the time Peter got there, it was a mess. Where people were usually out bustling and doing their morning routes, Peter found a wasteland, debris, just destruction and he blinked away the terror, the flashbacks…what it was like that day in Manhattan six years ago. There was something unnerving about the idea of his city suffering again. People dying again, rebuilding again and again and again. Creating more men like Toomes in the process. Dropping more buildings on people.

 

On himself. On guys like Charlie Spencer, building houses in Sokovia.

 

 _Everything_ was _everything_ for a moment. And Peter forgot where he was until he made it to Washington Square Park.

 

Sure enough, his father was there…

 

Fighting a giant – _GIANT_.

 

Peter swung in just in time to watch his dad hit the ground and immediately he intervened, jumping in front of whatever that freaking thing was that the Giant-Giant was swinging around. He stopped it, crossing his arms in front of him and he jolted only slightly to catch the blow that was meant for his father, covered in dirt and grass. Peter leaned over to get a look at his face, and damn, it was ugly.

 

“Hey man,” Peter greeted before he looked back slightly, “What’s up, Dad?”

 

He father fell over, and Peter felt a bit of pride when his dad sounded relieved in asking, “Where’d you come from?”

 

“Field trip, remember? To – MoMAAAAAAA!!!!”

 

Peter felt something wrap around his middle and he went flying through the air, landing on hard concrete instead of the lush grass only a few feet away – of course. A lot was happening, and Peter could feel his senses getting overwhelmed as he forced his mask to focus in on the situation. His father had gotten up and was attacking Giant-Giant now, blasting him. It was the first time Peter had really seen the nanobot suit at work and it was awesome. He wished he could ask about it, because he figured by the time they got home, he’d forget.

 

“What this guy’s problem!?”

 

“Uh, he’s from space and he’s here to steal a necklace from a wizard.”

 

Oh shit, that was cool, but not cool because people from space generally came with armies and stuff like that. Peter barely got back into the fight before he was thrown towards the opposite side of the park this time. However, he managed to catch a flying taxi and send it towards Giant-Giant’s head, crushing him. Dirt flew from the ground and honestly, Peter thought it would have been a victory, but Giant-Giant was apparently really resilient and got up relatively easy.

 

Then there was a cape.

 

Peter was really confused.

 

“That’s the wizard, get on it!”

 

“On it!” Peter replied, following the flying cape thingy, but honestly, Peter didn’t know what he was supposed to be on. Sure, someone was trying to steal the wizard’s necklace. Made sense. Something out of Harry Potter maybe, but Harry Potter didn’t usually involve _aliens_. But the ugly guy Peter ran into looked like a mixture of Voldemort and Squidward, so Peter was starting to think he had been teleported into a fantasy novel that had somehow mixed with a children’s cartoon and sci-fi.

 

Squidward was somewhat abusive, throwing signs and shit and then dragging Peter and the wizard up towards the giant donut in the sky. Peter spoke into his com, voice coming out slightly panicked, “Uh, Dad! I’m being beamed up!”

 

_“Hang on, Pete.”_

His father’s voice sounded preoccupied and strained, so Peter decided maybe hanging on was the best option.

 

…

 

Peter was familiar with the feeling of not being able to breathe.

 

He had done it was few times before. Almost drowning when he was four, then again at fifteen, and being crushed by a building all in the matter of a few weeks. The drug dealer a month ago that had tried to strangle him to death on patrol. Peter had adjusted, but there was a different type of not breathing when one was being carried to outer space.

 

But he could add that to the list too.

 

The suit came though, the one that smelled like a new car, _the_ _one_ he had turned down when he had refused his father’s offer to join the Avengers. A very intuitive suit actually, that hadn’t brought him home but instead had brought him inside the ship where he knew his father would be. Where he knew he would be in so much trouble.

 

Honestly, he crawled around the ship for a few good minutes just trying to figure out where the hell he was. It was pretty dark anyway and he was still sort of freaking out because _a ship_. He was in a space ship and Karen wasn’t working and things were just not going how he had planned. It was supposed to be an easy Wednesday at MoMA. He wasn’t supposed to be in space. His dad wasn’t supposed to be in space. Wizards and necklaces and Squidwards galore.

 

“Okay, Pete,” Peter whispered to himself, “Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out.”

 

It was like a crazy fever dream, he was definitely in a fever dream. Maybe he had been run over and was in a coma or something. Maybe he never even got on the school bus that day. Peter scurried silently, desperately piecing together his thought processes when he suddenly saw the blue hue of his father’s suit below him. Peter paused immediately, watching as his father was leaning over an edge, maybe observing something below.

 

Then something tapped the man on the shoulder and Peter’s father nearly blasted it before he stopped…Peter almost jumped down and attacked it too, until he processed that it was the wizard’s cloak. His father let out an exasperated sound and asked, “Wow…you’re seriously a loyal piece of outerwear, aren’t you?”

 

Well…it was as good a time as any to make his appearance. His father was bound to find him eventually…

 

“Yeah, speaking of loyalty.”

 

Peter hopped down, the mask retracting. So cool. Less cool was the look of utter shock on his father’s face when he saw him and sure, there had been a small piece of Peter that had hopped his dad would take his presence a bit more…better. But instead, that shock turned to a sudden despair, then anger, mixed with things Peter couldn’t read. The cloak moved to be beside Peter’s father and it felt almost like having Pepper there to zero in on the scolding that was to come.

 

“What the hell – “

 

“I know what you’re gonna say.”

 

His father’s face looked…horrified, but there was so much…frustration. Like he wanted so badly to scream at Peter, and his father rarely got that angry with him but it was bubbling. Like lava, like fire, and Peter bit the inside of his mouth as his father snapped, “What are you doing _here_? I sent you home, I sent you home for a reason, what are you _doing_?”

 

The man stepped towards Peter and Peter did his best not to step away. Peter shook his head back and forth and tried his best to explain, “I-I was…I was gonna go home, but t-then I thought about you and I sort of…stuck to the side of the ship…and this suit is incredibly intuitive by the way, so-o it’s kind of your fault I’m here – “

 

“ _What_ did you just say?”

 

“I take that back!” Peter tried to amend, hearing the venom in his father’s tone, sending ice water up his back. This was definitely not going smoothly. Something in the way his father’s shoulders were trembling told Peter that the man was already on edge…he was already freaking out, and Peter’s presence had made it ten times worse. Peter wasn’t supposed to be there…with him. He wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near this and it looked like his father was on the verge of a complete panic attack and that was the last thing Peter wanted.

 

His father stepped even closer, if that was possible and ordered, “ _Look_ at me, this isn’t a game, I didn’t want you to be here! This isn’t Coney Island, this isn’t a field trip. It’s a one-way ticket, you hear me?”

 

“I know,” Peter insisted.

 

“You don’t know,” His dad growled, and looked as if he was fighting the urge to shake sense into him, “You don’t understand, you’re sixteen, you shouldn’t…Christ…”

 

He stepped away from Peter, running both hands through his hair. Peter worried on his lower lip, trying to give his father time to gather himself, but it just…it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that his father had tried to send him home and Peter didn’t know how to explain that to him while he was on the verge of a freak out. Peter ignored that cloak that was moving around behind his dad and he stepped a bit closer to the man.

 

“Dad,” Peter’s voice cracked slightly, “Y-You can’t…you can’t just let me watch you go into space again…watch you disappear again, I can help you.”

 

There was a shake of his head, a vehement response, “You’re the child, I’m the parent, you aren’t supposed to help me. I take care of you, you get that? Do you understand?”

 

“But this isn’t you trying to take care of me, this is you trying to take care of the whole world!” Peter argued, “T-That’s all its ever been and I’m tired of it! I’m going to help you, I won’t let it be like last time when you had to be alone…I-I’m here now, I can help. _Let me_.”

 

As far as fathers go, Peter’s was fairly good with getting a hold of himself. He sighed shakily, looking at Peter for a long time before he eventually turned back towards the ledge he had been leaning over when Peter had approached. He looked back to Peter and said, “Alright…but you do exactly as I say. Everything. If I tell you to run, you run. If I tell you to hide, you hide. If you don’t listen to me I’ll…Well, you don’t wanna find out, because it’ll be bad; you’ll be grounded forever, and you’ll never get a license. You’ll hate it. Got me?”

 

“Got you,” Peter confirmed.

 

“Alright, we’ve got a situation,” His father led him over to the ledge and Peter looked down. Below them was the wizard, being…stabbed? And the Squidward-Sci-Fi man. His father continued, “See him down there? He’s in trouble. What’s your plan? Go.”

 

“Um…okay…uh…” Peter whispered, mind wracking. Right, his first real order on the mission. Had to be good if his father was going to trust him the rest of the ride. Peter pushed himself from his kneeling position and looked up at his dad.

 

“Did you ever see this really old movie, _Aliens_?”

 

…

 

Squidward got sucked into space.

 

Peter was pretty proud of his plan, over all. It had gone surprisingly smooth and saving the wizard had also brought out his spider-legs which were crazy amazing. He had also tried to introduce himself to the cloak, but he – it? – wasn’t really interested in meeting Peter. It seemed more pleased with the fact that its owner had been rescued from Squidward.

 

He could hear the two men in the distance, arguing about protecting the stone, whatever the stone was, and flying home, but Peter could only assume it had to do with the necklace that was so close to being stolen. He really had no idea what was going on, why they were in space, or why everyone seemed to want what the wizard had so bad.

 

His father muttered, “I want you to thank me now. Go ahead. I’m listening.”

 

The wizard scoffed, “For what? Nearly blasting me into space?”

 

Okay, Peter could take the blame for that. He ducked his head sheepishly as the conversation went on, this time his dad raised his voice, asking, “Who just saved your magical ass? Me.”

 

“I seriously don’t know how you fit your head into that helmet,” The wizard approached Peter’s father and the boy didn’t need to have the best conversation skills to process that the entire thing was going to south. Being trapped on a spaceship wanting to kill each other was the last thing they needed, but Peter found himself unable to intervene.

 

Then his dad said the most dad thing ever, “Admit it. You should have ducked out when I told you to. I tried to bench you. You refused.”

 

“Unlike everyone else in your life, I don’t work for you.”

 

“And due to that fact, we're now in a flying donut billions of miles away from Earth with no backup.”

 

Peter raised his hand, almost hesitantly as he announced himself, hoping to ease some of the tension between the two of the men, “I’m backup.”

 

“No,” His father argued, “You’re a stow away. The adults are talking.”

 

The wizard pointed behind himself and snapped, “I’m sorry, I’m confused, is this your child?”

 

“Not a child,” Peter corrected, holding out his hand, feeling brief frustration for being called a child, but tried to dig out some semblance of a friendship. Mostly because the guy was a wizard and if they ever got off that ship Peter was definitely going to ask to learn some tricks or something because he had just had a Harry Potter marathon and Ned would shit himself if he ever met a real wizard. Peter continued, “I’m Peter.”

 

The wizard blinked at him and introduced, “Doctor Strange.”

 

Right…Right, he probably shouldn’t have introduced himself as Peter, but the guy had already seemed to know him as being his father’s son. Peter wasn’t exactly a secret to the rest of the population but Spider-Man was. Peter lowered his hand and corrected, “O-Oh…We’re using our made-up names? Then I’m Spider-Man.”

 

Doctor Strange turned away without another word and Peter’s father started talking again about the ship being on autopilot. Suddenly, Peter felt very invisible to the entire conversation as he tried to piece it all together. He could decipher that Doctor Strange wanted to go home, back to Earth, but Peter’s father wanted to get as far away from home as possible…to get the fight to some guy named Thanos.

 

Peter understood…there was a Time Stone and this Thanos guy wanted it and Doctor Strange was adamant that Thanos could not get it as Doctor Stranger muttered, “Under no circumstance can we bring the Time Stone to Thanos. I don't think you quite understand what's at stake here.”

 

But then his father’s voice got desperate… _afraid_ and he stalked over to Doctor Strange, eyes wide and blown, “No. It's you who doesn't understand, that Thanos has been inside my head for six years since he sent an army to New York and now he's _back_! And I don't know what to do. So, I'm not so sure if it's a better plan to fight him on our turf or his but you saw what they did, what they can do. At least on his turf, he's not expecting it. So, I say we take the fight to him. Doctor. Do you concur?”

 

Thanos sent the army to New York.

 

Thanos _caused_ New York…maybe not Loki.

 

Things started rolling through Peter’s mind and he just couldn’t…grab onto it. It was like a flicker of light floating into the distance. Like he was so…small in that room with the two adults, an invisible person, a not-human. A child. Suddenly he didn’t know why he had even be offended by Doctor Strange’s statement about him being a child…because he was.

 

Doctor Strange seemed to consider Peter’s father’s words for a long moment before he took a deep inhale and replied, “Alright, Stark. We go to him. But you have to understand... if it comes to saving you or the kid or the Time Stone... I will not hesitate to let either of you die. I can't, because the fate of the universe depends on it.”

 

Peter’s chest constricted.

 

Maybe Doctor Strange wasn’t a ‘ride or die’ kind of teammate, he was a ‘ride or die’ Time Stone protector.

 

His father’s face was hard. Like a stone itself and the man nodded his head, patting Doctor Strange on the arm, almost stiffly…like the words had somehow broken into something of his father’s core. Their prime objective wasn’t the same anymore. Survival and Time Stones could not intermingle and maybe Peter’s father couldn’t put a time stone above his son. Guilt twisted…because Peter didn’t want his father to risk the Time Stone for him. Because Thanos sounded horrible…deadly, and Peter wasn’t as important as the rest of the world.

 

Maybe he was sounding too much like his father.

 

His dad stepped towards him, and began, “Peter…”

 

He stopped in front of Peter, putting a hand on his left shoulder before crossing it to the right one and Peter’s brows furrowed in confusion until his dad finished, “You’re an Avenger now.”

 

There was no eye contact, and Peter swore he heard pain in the man’s voice as he stepped away, maybe not even able to look at Peter after he ‘knighted’ him. Peter’s stomach swirled, and even though there was pain in the man’s voice, he felt pride in himself. Maybe that was wrong, when his father was so clearly disheartened by the entire thing…it was obviously this wasn’t the situation he wanted Peter to be in when he became an Avenger. This wasn’t what the man wanted…but Peter still felt it.

 

Like a childish giddiness.

 

Peter’s shoulders straightened, and he smiled slightly before setting his face into a serious line.

 

An Avenger.

 

Maybe he would realize that being the father of a child-soldier was a curse on his dad’s soul once it was all over…but in that moment it was an expanse of whirlwind.

 

…

 

Peter’s father only managed to avoid him for about twenty minutes into the space ship ride.

 

He hadn’t explored much, mostly because both his dad and Doctor Strange had been extremely against him going into the depths of the giant donut and Peter was already treading on thin ice with his father, which meant he didn’t want to tread any farther. Instead he stayed close enough, just so his dad would know he was there, but there was a nagging in the back of his mind due to the tenseness in the air between all three of them.

 

Peter didn’t know if his father was still mad about him stowing away or if he was mad at Doctor Strange for saying he wouldn’t save them over the Time Stone. Either way, it was disturbing Peter, even though he was already anxious about the entire situation as a whole.

 

Ultimately, he was the one to approach his father, who was staring blankly at the blue expanse of nothingness in front of them, what looked to be stars floating by. His back was turned to Peter and the boy didn’t know where the doctor had gone, but they felt alone there. He wrung his hands together anxiously, pondering on words to say but he was struggling to find any.

 

“Penny for your thoughts.”

 

As far as opening lines go, that was lame. His father glanced over his shoulder, arms crossed stiffly over his chest. Peter swallowed past the lump in his throat, and it felt like sandpaper scratching through without remorse. The pride, the bravery from before when he had been ‘knighted’ was slowly sinking into a deep remorse of sorts, a remorse for his presence and what it was doing to his dad.

 

His father hummed, “Might want to consider a refund. You won’t like the thoughts.”

 

It had been naïve for him to think they had solved the issue with the earlier conversation. With the threat of grounding and such. Peter sighed deeply, shoulders going lax as he whispered softly, “I…Dad, I-I just wanted to tell you…before whatever is happening, happens, I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t say it like that,” His father ordered sharply, “Like it’s some kind of end.”

 

Peter breathed, almost like he had been punched in the gut, “You’re making it sound like that. L-Like we’re walking into some kind of death trap…literally. And if it’s really as big as you’re making it seem…if this Thanos guy _is_ the big bad that caused New York…Shouldn’t I be saying it?”

 

“You shouldn’t be saying anything, you should be at home!”

 

The shout echoed through the ship and if Doctor Strange hadn’t heard their conversation from wherever he was, he surely heard it then. Peter flinched in surprise, the sudden raise in his father’s voice shocking him like cold water. It was out of character, for the sudden explosion that had seemed to approach without the inkling of a warning. Peter blinked, mouth opening and closing as he gulped for oxygen.

 

His father pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head back and forth before he continued almost just as harshly, “You should be with Pepper, back there, where it’s _safe_. You should have never gotten off that school bus.”

 

It was almost like a repeat of the conversation earlier. Like the calm had reawakened the anger within his dad. Peter felt his lip trembling from the force in his dad’s voice and when the man opened his eyes and looked at him, his face softened slightly. There was a calming breath, Peter said nothing, and his father muttered, “I’m sorry…you just have to understand that this is not what I wanted for you…a full-fledged war at sixteen is not what I wanted in your future. I feel like I’m arming you and pushing you out the door.”

 

“That’s not what this is,” Peter whispered, “You’re here with me, I’m safe.”

 

The despair that flashed across his dad’s eyes said otherwise. Maybe the trust had hurt him more than anything. But Peter did trust his father and he trusted the plan to take the fight away from Earth. And if that meant Peter had to go away from Earth, so be it, it would only be for a little while. Deep down he knew it was going to be okay. That his father would find a way to stop this guy because his dad always stopped the bad guys.

 

Peter held up his hands, “And I’ve got this really cool suit now, that has like eight extra legs. I’m not a bad fighter either so…we’re going to be okay. I’m going to be okay.”

 

His father stared at him silently before he finally said anything.

 

“Do as you’re told…Always stay behind me.”

 

Peter smiled, “I’m a professional at taking orders, Dad.”

 

…

 

Maybe he wasn’t such a professional after all.

 

Crash landing on the orange looking planet was an ordeal in itself, but getting attacked by the three-stooges was something totally different. Ending up with a blaster pressed against his skull five minutes into the fight had completely gone against his words to his father and for a minute he sort of wanted to be blasted to the nether world just to avoid the lecture he knew was going to come at some point about getting caught.

 

Apparently, the leader of the three stooges, ‘Star Lord’, was looking for his girlfriend. She had been taken by Thanos and Peter was really struggling to keep up with what was going on around him. Anyone had yet to explain the entire ‘stone’ situation and why the hell Thanos wanted all of them, but apparently there was a gauntlet.

 

The planet itself mostly felt like being in a bouncy house with very little weight to it. Like Peter could jump in the air and float away. The girl/alien named Mantis, and her friend Drax were already having a good time and for a moment, Peter forgot what was happening. That things were so serious, but he sort of liked their silly new allies. Despite the fact that his father did not appear to find them entertaining in the slightest.

 

“We got one advantage,” His father started simply, “He’s coming to us. We’ll us it. All right, I have a plan. Or at least the beginnings of one. It's pretty simple. We draw him in, pin him down, get what we need. Definitely don't wanna dance with this guy. We just want the gauntlet.”

 

Peter stood, fiddling silently with his webshooters as his father looked over suddenly at their new acquaintances to find that the giant named Drax was yawning. Peter almost cringed inwardly when his father’s voice snapped towards the odd looking alien, “Are you yawning? In the middle of this while I’m breaking it down? Huh? Did you hear what I said?”

 

It was almost as if he was talking to Peter whenever Peter would sometimes space out during lectures. Drax blinked, “I stopped listening after you said ‘we need a plan’.”

 

Peter’s father looked at Star Lord and breathed, “Okay, Mister Clean is on his own page.”

 

“See, not winging it isn’t exactly what they do,” Star Lord explained.

 

Peter felt a small tinge of frustration, but it dissipated more into genuine curiosity, because this was the oddest team he had ever run into. Not that he had run into many ‘teams’ but if these guys were supposed to be some kind of Avengers equal, it just wasn’t working out in Peter’s opinion. Peter raised his hand and asked, “What is it that they do exactly?”

 

“Kick names, take ass,” Mantis’ eyes, if possible, grew wider with a bit of pretend fierceness behind them. Peter felt anxiety well up again, and it wasn’t like he really thought she was going to lay eggs in him but…he really did. He didn’t know if that was wrong, maybe prejudice somehow in the books, but it was freaky and it was an honest thought.

 

Peter looked over at his dad, whose face had gone into a hopeless gaze. Like trying to explain something to a brick wall and Peter fought the urge to put a hand on his shoulder. To provide some kind of comfort, because this was the team they had and unfortunately there was nothing they could do about it but hope for the best and try to get everyone to work together.

 

“Alright,” His dad sighed, “Just…get over here, please. Mister Lord, can you get your folks to circle up?”

 

Peter could hear the exhaustion in the man’s voice. Like he had gotten all of his frustration out on the ship by yelling at Peter for tagging along and now all the fight had left him like a sudden wave. Something like pride sparked in Star Lord’s face and he reassured, “Mister Lord, Star Lord is fine.”

 

He gestured for his teammates to come forward and Peter stepped back just a bit when Drax and Mantis came towards them. His father went on, “We gotta coalesce. Because if all we do is come at him with this plucky attitude – “

 

“Dude,” Star Lord interrupted, “Don’t call us plucky, we don’t know what it means. Alright, we’re optimistic, yes. I like your plan, except it sucks, so let me do the plan, and that way it might be really good.”

 

Drax insisted, “Tell him about the dance-off to save the universe.”

 

“What dance-off?” Peter’s father questioned.

 

Star Lord shook his head rapidly, “It’s not – it’s not – it’s nothing…”

 

Peter’s brows tugged together and he really was trying his best to keep up with the conversation but a part of him was still struggling with that fact that these were their new teammates and that he had even gotten off the school bus in the first place. Christ, he shouldn’t have, but he was there now and things were really, really weird. He asked, “Like in Footloose, the movie?”

 

“Exactly like Footloose!” Star Lord’s eyes lit up, “Is it still the greatest movie of all time?”

 

“It never was,” Peter replied.

 

Star Lord frowned deeply and Peter jumped slightly when his father looked at him and ordered sharply, “Don’t encourage this, alright?”

 

“Okay,” Peter whispered, looking down at the ground as his father approached and he could see the annoyance beginning to build within both of the men’s shoulders as he glanced around his father at Star Lord. He could tell Star Lord wasn’t particularly impressed with Peter’s father and there was a thick tension there that caused Peter to look back down at the ground.

 

“We’re getting no help from Flash Gordon here.”

 

“Flash Gordon?” Star Lord snapped, “By the way, that’s a compliment. Don’t forget, I’m half human, so that fifty percent of me that’s stupid, that’s one-hundred percent you.”

 

Peter’s father replied, “Your math is blowing my mind.”

 

“Excuse me, but…” Mantis interjected, causing everyone to turn and look at where she was pointing. In the distance, Peter could see Doctor Strange, and Peter didn’t know how he hadn’t even noticed the man had disappeared from them all together. He was floating, head twisting in odd directions at a speed that was nearly impossible, but Peter guessed wizards could do such things. Mantis questioned, “…does your friend often do that?”

 

There was a glowing green hue between the man’s hands and Peter’s father stepped away and Peter fought the urge to stop him, because honestly Doctor Strange looked like some kind of possessed demon from ‘The Exorcist’ or something. His dad didn’t seem afraid of him though as he called, “Strange, you alright!?”

 

They all moved forward, Peter’s father a bit more quickly than the rest of them. Doctor Strange fell from where he was levitating, letting out a loud cry as he did so and Peter watched his father surge forward in an attempt to grab a hold of him. He seemed panicked as he looked around, breathing heavily and Peter’s father reassured, “You’re back. You’re alright.”

 

Peter recognized it as the firmness that would greet him from his nightmares about being under buildings and drowning. More recently about hands around his throat. Doctor Strange calmed though and Peter questioned, heart still hammering from the thought of needing to call a priest, “What was that?”

 

Doctor Strange sounded breathless as he explained, “I went forward in time to view alternate futures. To see all the possible outcomes of the coming conflict.”

 

Star Lord asked, “How many did you see?”

 

“Fourteen million, six hundred and five.”

 

And then his father asked the question Peter didn’t really want to hear. Because before it was said, before it was questioned, or breathed into existence, it suddenly didn’t seem very bright. Very good or stable or nice. Peter wanted to go back to that mundane Tuesday night in that moment. The mundane Tuesday night before all of this. Before the Wednesday of bad things and ruined field trips and stupid, stupid decisions. The man breathed, “How many did we win?”

 

Doctor Strange’s answer, was…not to Peter’s surprise…blunt. Clinical.

 

“One.”

 

…

 

“You are afraid.”

 

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin when Mantis’ small voice met his ears, causing him to whirl around from where he was standing. Everyone was moving about, minding their own business really as they readied for the coming fight. The plan was intricate, a product of his father’s mind, but Peter felt like he was in a bubble, somewhere outside of it. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking, shaking, and shaking.

 

It felt like his senses were going off, nonstop since they had crashed. Like Thanos was a looming presence that was still far enough away to not cause harm, but to trigger the defense mechanism within Peter’s body. He felt so cold, there on that planet, and there was nothing he could do about it because it had settled in his spine.

 

She approached slowly, and Peter fought the urge to step away from her as he replied softly, “I…I’m not.”

 

“You are,” She almost looked sad, “You are very young. Most children would be afraid, you do not have to feel shameful.”

 

Peter wrung his hands together and looked down, chewing on his lower lip. As scared of her as he had been before, there was something comforting about her and he wanted to tell her why and where the fear had come from. Why he didn’t want to be honest about it, but that was weird. He had only just met her after all, and had made the assumption that she would lay eggs in him. Then again, Ned had made that assumption about him.

 

“This just isn’t my usual playing field,” Peter whispered, “But I’ve got my dad here, so – well things are gonna be fine, I know they are.”

 

Her mouth upturned slightly, “He must be a good father then, if he has your trust so fully.”

 

Peter nodded.

 

“He’s the best.”

 

…

 

Star Lord’s name was Peter too.

 

He had dubbed Peter to be ‘Baby-Peter’. And the more Peter insisted that he not be called such a thing, the more Star Lord pushed it because apparently, he had never-ever met anyone with the same name as him before traveling the galaxies and Peter found that somewhat hard to believe, but also not because aliens probably didn’t use Earth names often.

 

“So, Baby-Peter, ready to kick some titan ass?”

 

Peter looked at Star Lord and shook his head, “Honestly, I’m ready to eat my weight in fries and sleep for three days straight. Maybe get a milkshake too.”

 

Star Lord clapped him on the shoulder, “That’s the spirit. Maybe your pops will let me visit Earth with you guys. I’d love to bring my girl there, when we get her back and there’s all kinds of stuff I want her to see. You know there’s no decent burger joints anywhere in the galaxy except where I’m from? You guys don’t know how lucky you have it.”

 

“Maybe he will,” Peter grinned, “I mean, we’ll need a ride back anyway. I’m sure your…your girl will like it…Her name was Gamora?”

 

Star Lord nodded, poking his chin out proudly, “Yep, she’s seen her fair share of planets, but nothing like where I’m from. She’ll like you, you’re a short and squishy version of a human, she’ll think it’s cute.”

 

Peter poked out his lower lip.

 

“Dude, I’m sixteen, not six months.”

 

…

 

Peter supposed…well, he wouldn’t get to meet Gamora.

 

He didn’t think he’d get to meet anyone, because Star Lord…Star Lord freaked out. Everyone freaked out, and if Peter had gotten the chance, he probably would have freaked out too. But Gamora was dead, and that other girl…the blue one that looked like a robot, she had showed up out of nowhere and things got more and more heated.

 

And Peter was _scared_.

 

While he was catching everyone. While he felt the urge to cry under his mask, while everything was going to absolute hell in handbasket, he was so fucking scared. He didn’t think he had been more terrified in his life. There was something bubbling and the guilt was there because he had almost gotten the gauntlet off. He had almost gotten the gauntlet off of Thanos’ hand, but he hadn’t. He hadn’t been strong enough and suddenly he wondered why he was even there at all if he couldn’t even do that.

 

_“Tell me she’s lying! Asshole, tell me you didn’t do it!”_

Peter could still hear Star Lord scream, enraged, inconsolable.

 

He did the best he could to make up for his shortcomings. He caught them, and the terror only subsided so briefly, because Peter knew what was going on in the distance. Once he had the others secured in the destruction, he swung his way back to where he knew his father would be. Where he knew the mad titan would be.

 

Where he knew the end could be.

 

That fear…that terror…that horror turned into something completely different when Peter returned. When he swung in and landed, lighter than he should have been, and he wished for his bones to feel heavy again. The dirt and everything and he just wanted to be home. There was a blade, a blade that should have been in his father’s hand, but then it wasn’t.

 

It was burrowing into his father’s abdomen.

 

Peter didn’t even know he had screamed. That he had started running towards them, and maybe he hadn’t screamed at all, but he was definitely crying under his mask. His father was sitting, and Thanos had a hand on top of his head, almost demeaning and Peter didn’t want the giant purple son of a bitch to even touch his father. Peter assumed maybe he truly hadn’t even screamed, because no one looked at him. Thanos stepped back, and raised the gauntlet just as Peter slid to a stop in front of his father.

 

“Stop!” Peter’s voice came out raw. He had to have been screaming. He had to have been…because it was so hard to speak now, and Peter lowered the mask, the nanobots retracting to show the splotchy, tear stained face of a teenager and his father was gasping for air behind him. Gasping and a hand grabbed his arm and pulled, as if his father was still trying to be the one to protect him, but he couldn’t now. And now Peter had to do something.

 

Thanos looked slightly surprised. Maybe he had really believed Peter was an insect or a bug or whatever he had called him when he had grabbed him in the fight early on when hope was still alive. But now he was a child, and his father was bleeding and Peter was so _fucking_ _scared_.

 

Peter repeated, “Stop, okay!? Stop, you did enough, stop!”

 

The monster’s head tilted. That was what Thanos was, a monster. Peter’s father grabbed his arm tighter, pulled harder, and Peter only stepped back slightly, but he wouldn’t move from in front of his dad. He couldn’t. His body trembled, lower lip shaking madly, and he was nothing intimidating, but whatever Thanos was going to do to end his father, he couldn’t allow it.

 

Thanos ordered, “Step aside, child.”

 

“I won’t,” Peter croaked, “I – don’t kill my dad. If you gotta kill someone, kill me, not him.”

 

“Peter,” His father snapped, but talking was obviously painful, and Peter tugged harshly at the arm his dad was holding, shushing him sharply.

 

Thanos’ face remained stoic and Peter was on the verge of believing it was his default…his forever. If he had murdered his own daughter for a stone…clearly he wasn’t a good guy and emotions couldn’t be applied. Thanos spoke bluntly, “I would gain nothing from killing you. You are a blip. Insignificant…being the offspring of Stark provides you with little claim to life. If anything, it makes you more of a target. He cursed you with a painful existence the moment of your conception.”

 

He paused, then went on, “You are of no threat to me boy, but your father is a known pest. You may have claim to his ‘kingdom’ but you were of no part in building it. His curse is not yours, but if I allow him to live, it will be.”

 

Peter fought he urge to cry more. He blinked back tears, “Then kill me. Do it. Because I-I’m not going anywhere without him.”

 

His father’s nails were definitely digging through the suit, if that was possible. This time he yanked hard, and Peter stumbled back a bit, being whirled around to face his father. Peter looked down at him, and his dad was pale, body shaking, wound _bleeding_. Peter suddenly felt like everything was crashing into him, the tears hit like a ton of bricks and his father ordered, “ _Move_ , Peter.”

 

“I won’t,” Peter’s chest spasmed, “I won’t move, I won’t do it.”

 

He knew if his father had the strength, he might have hurt him then. Done something crazy, because there was some sort of mania behind his father’s eyes. A primal fear, clawing in his brown irises. Peter ground his teeth together and muttered, “After New York…you said there wouldn’t be a next time…”

 

Peter paused, then went on, “This _is_ the next time.”

 

Horror, it was like pure and heinous and his father’s eyes went so wide Peter felt guilty. So he turned away, back towards Thanos, to find that the monster was raising the gauntlet again. He said, voice collected, “The loyalty of some children knows no bounds. Incredibly ironic that Stark’s child would be the one to stand by his side until death.”

 

Thanos’ fist tightened, and Peter waited. He waited for some kind of final blow to come, for some kind of pain or nothing at all.

 

But Doctor Strange called suddenly, “Stop!”

 

Everyone turned and looked at the man. He looked like he was barely upright, pain etching into his features, and Peter’s heart raced as Doctor Strange continued, “Spare his life…and I will give you the stone.”

 

Thanos himself even looked surprised…

 

“No tricks.”

 

Doctor Strange shook his head, and Peter heard his father call weakly, “Don’t!”

 

But it was then…it was then that the green stone appeared. It was then that it floated to the gauntlet and found its resting place…and it was then that Peter felt a large hopeful part of him die. His father was still gripping his arm. Still holding onto him so tightly, like he was seeking comfort from him. Grounding.

 

Thanos got what he wanted.

 

He got the stone and then he disappeared, even as Star Lord shot blasters at him and screamed in rage.

 

Star Lord stood to his feet, face shocked and Peter could barely wrap his mind around what had happened. Around the fact that Thanos was gone…with the Time Stone in his possession. Peter turned, and slowly lowered himself to kneel in front of where his father was sitting, watching as he used some sort of sealant on his wound to staunch the blood flow and close it. His eyes then found Peter’s and Peter had never seen his father so lost…so _hurt_ …

 

The man grabbed his chin, maybe roughly, but Peter felt so numb he barely felt it. His father breathed, “That was wrong.”

 

Star Lord’s voice echoed across the landscape, “Did we just lose?”

 

Of course, they had just lost…the Time Stone was gone. Peter just stared at his father’s face, not even trying to pull from the man’s hold. The words sort of stayed in his chest, tossing and turning like a horrible monster. His father had said it like talking to a five-year-old. Like Peter had touched a hot stove or something. That was wrong? No…it wasn’t wrong. What was expected out of him? He couldn’t step aside…he couldn’t…

 

Peter said, “I will never step out of the way, Dad. You can’t ask me to do that. That’s not fair.”

 

His father said nothing in response, just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Peter’s matted hair. He sat back up straight, pained and stiff as he turned just slightly to look at Doctor Strange, only enough to question, “Why would you do that?”

 

Doctor Strange’s response didn’t answer the question.

 

“We’re in the endgame now.”

 

…

 

It was like a funeral.

 

Peter had been to a few funerals in his life, but they were never people he really knew, besides his mom and step father’s funerals, though he didn’t remember that. All the others were funerals for people that worked for Stark Industries or things like that, funerals where his father was obligated to go and sometimes Peter was brought with him. It felt like that…that sort of distant feeling, from the person that was dead, but the air felt like mourning.

 

Peter felt it…in the orange haze of the planet.

 

Everyone’s faces were bleak, besides that of the blue robot lady. She said nothing…just looked at them and Peter had to the urge to yell at Star Lord, but Peter couldn’t find the energy and he didn’t think anyone could. It wasn’t actually the man’s fault at the end of the day…Thanos had done it. Thanos had taken the stone and they were left to wait for the consequences.

 

It was only right after he had helped his father stand to his feet that Mantis broke the quiet sadness with only a few words of foreboding…

 

“Something is happening…”

 

And then _it_ happened.

 

The ashes happened.

 

Peter wasn’t sure what he had been imagining when he had been told that Thanos was going to wipe out half the universe with the stones, but turning to ash was not one of them. Maybe he thought everyone would simply disappear like that show _The Leftovers_. Or maybe he thought people would fall over and die, leaving behind bodies to be buried or burned or something. But ashes weren’t what he thought and if the situation hadn’t been so heavy he would have made a Voldemort reference.

 

He was confused…when Mantis disappeared. But by the time Drax and Star Lord had gone…Peter understood. He understood what was happening and he felt a shift in his bones. Like his entire being had been tugged forward and Peter tugged back, the ice returning to his spine, like someone was coming behind with a blade, but no one was there. His father turned away from him, towards Doctor Strange and the wizard only said one thing…

 

“Tony…there was no other way.”

 

Then the wizard was ash too, and Peter watched the flecks of light filter in, and it would have been sort of beautiful in a grotesque way if his bones hadn’t been shifting inside of him, his organs pushing and pulling. Something wasn’t right. Nothing felt right, he wasn’t in his own body for a minute and then he was and nausea crept in. If souls could scream, his did. It screamed about how unfair this feeling was, about having your bones splinter inside of you felt like needles and prickling and it hurt, _it_ _hurt_.

 

Peter felt tears forming in his eyes, because he sort of knew.

 

He sort of knew, maybe he all the way knew, but saying sort of made it feel less like optional ignorance and MJ had told him one time that optional ignorance was wrong and it got people hurt. Peter didn’t want to hurt anyone.

 

“Dad?”

 

His father turned slowly to face him and Peter stepped forward, breathing rather heavily. It felt like nights when he’d get sick, when he’d go to his father’s room and wake him up. He stared at the ground, eyes narrowed, teary, afraid.

 

“I don’t feel so good.”

 

He stumbled, looking up finally and his dad might have said something like ‘you’re alright’, but Peter fell forward so quickly he barely had time to process that fact that he too was speaking. He didn’t really know what air was anymore. How to draw it into his lungs. How to be a person, but he was in his father’s arms and that had always been the safest place to be. It had always been where no one could get to him, but his bones were splintering his muscles, it felt like needles inside of him.

 

“I don’t know what’s…I don’t know what’s happening – ”

 

His arms tightened. He held his father so tightly he thought he might hurt him with his strength, but he suddenly didn’t feel so strong anymore. A sob welled in his throat, his chest spasmed and more tears flowed. Like a fire, and pressure, and Peter was dying. He was dying, under that building again and he was going to disappear, like Drax, like Mantis, like Star Lord, and like Doctor Strange.

 

Peter thought he was brave, but that moment ripped such a belief away before he could even pretend it had been there. A switch flipped off. He wanted his father to save him. To do something…to help. Peter begged almost inconsolably, “I don’t wanna go…I don’t wanna go, Dad, please… _please_ I don’t wanna go – “

 

He fell quite suddenly and forever he would pretend it wasn’t because his legs had disappeared before the rest of him.

 

That his left arm wasn’t disappearing.

 

The splintering…the pain, it turned to something else when he hit the ground. When he looked up at the orange sky above him. It turned into a different sort of feeling. It was a feeling that didn’t exist, and Peter felt an emotion he didn’t know the word for. Peter wouldn’t exist either, he supposed, so at least he and the emotion were the same. Something was the same as him.

 

When he looked at his father’s eyes, they were the same as his.

 

 _“But if you died…I feel like that’s on me._ _And I’m not going to lose you to this kind of bullshit, do you understand me? I’m not going to bury my kid, I will not be one of those people.”_

Peter wanted to say ‘I love you’ but other words fumbled out instead.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

Peter glanced up, and darkness crept in.

 

…

 

Peter woke to light blinding him.

 

His father wasn’t there, but he knew he would come.


End file.
